Blood and Gold
by Zubeneschamali
Summary: An AU take on Season Four: Don's team might be back together after Colby's return, but are they really all in the same place?  As a new case threatens them in more ways than one, they have to work on trusting each other again.  COMPLETE.
1. Waitin' On A Sunny Day

**Title**: Blood and Gold  
**Author**: Zubeneschamali  
**Rating**: PG-13 (language, violence, adult situations)  
**Timeline**: AU Season Four, set after "Velocity"  
**Summary**: Don's team might be back together after Colby's return, but are they really all in the same place? As a new case threatens them in more ways than one, they have to work on trusting each other again and showing the rest of the FBI that they still have what it takes to bring in the bad guys and keep themselves safe from a variety of threats, some from the outside and some from within. An AU take on Season Four, featuring angst, action, and romance, roughly in that order. Written for the NUMB3RS Big Bang on LJ, available at my journal (zuben_eschamali dot livejournal dot com)

**Disclaimer**: The characters you recognize are not mine, but the property of the NUMB3RS folks, as are the opening quotes in each chapter. I'm only using them for fun and to work out angst. Chapter titles and lyrics are all from Bruce Springsteen.

**A/N**: Long, long ago, I started this story, and then it sat, three-quarters finished, for almost two years. When the first NUMB3RS Big Bang came along this spring, I thought it was the perfect kick in the butt to get this thing done, and it was! In the DVD commentary to "One Hour," Rob Morrow said that one of the ironies of the episode is that while the audience gets to see how trustworthy and competent each of the members of Don's team are, Don himself doesn't get to see that. Take that, combine it with a number of aspects of early Season Four that were never resolved entirely to my liking, and this novel-length story is the result.

_Muchas gracias_ and _merci beaucoup_ to Kiki, rittenden, cerise_reve, and emmademarais for their fabulous beta work. You guys rock. Any remaining mistakes are all mine. Thanks to Lady Shelley for maintaining "Running the NUMB3RS" and to spikedluv for her quote collection, both of which were valuable resources.

Now, pretend you've seen only the first couple of episodes of Season Four: Colby is newly back on the team, Liz and Don are still together, Charlie hasn't written that book, and things are still a little tense in the office as the curtain rises…

ooooooooooooooooo

10 hijacked trucks  
5 coded digits  
3 missing crates  
1 team

ooooooooooooooooo

Where the road is dark  
And the seed is sowed  
Where the gun is cocked  
And the bullets cold  
Where the miles are marked  
In the blood and gold  
I'll meet you further on up the road  
-Bruce Springsteen, "Further On (Up the Road)"

ooooooooooooooooo

Chapter 1: Waitin' On A Sunny Day

Liz: Come on. It's complicated now.  
Don: Yeah? Why's that?  
Liz: People will find out.  
Don: Yeah? So what?  
Liz: So what?  
Don: Yeah.  
Liz: This is the Bureau. It matters.  
-"Finders Keepers"

The sound of his cellphone was, sadly, one of the most recognizable noises Don knew. The familiar ringing sound woke him from a pleasant dream that was more like a recollection of how he and Liz had spent a pleasurable hour together last night before falling asleep tangled in each other's arms. As his bleary gaze caught the digital clock and the bright red "5:52", he snapped wide awake.

The phone ringing at this hour was never good news.

He turned towards the sound, which was coming from the nightstand on the other side of the bed. Next to him, Liz was stretching out an arm towards the phone. "Don't," he warned, reaching for her arm, but she had already flipped the phone open. "Hello?"

There was a pause, and he waited with bated breath. He wasn't surprised to see Liz's cheeks flush in the dim light as she said, "No, he's right here," before handing the phone to him. He frowned at her and accepted the device, which she offered with an apologetic smile. "Eppes," he said into the phone.

"Don?" It was Megan, sounding way too awake for six in the morning.

"Yeah. What's up?" He threw the covers back, already mentally preparing himself for an early-morning drive to a crime scene. At least traffic wouldn't be bad.

"Sorry to wake you so early," she replied. In the background he heard traffic noises; she was already on the road.

"No problem," he said, knowing she was referring to disturbing more than his sleep. "Where are we going?"

She let out a sigh. "_I'm_ going to Washington. That's what I'm calling to tell you - I'm going to be out for the rest of the week doing some follow-up work from that DOJ assignment I was on."

He slowly sat back against the headboard. "They just told you about it?"

"Forty-five minutes ago, and my plane leaves in an hour." That and the disgruntled tone of her voice told him more about the high level at which her assignment had been made than any classified stamp on a document.

"I suppose this has to do with the aftermath of what Colby was up to," he grumbled, aware of Liz next to him pretending not to listen in.

"You know I can't say." Megan sounded tired, and Don hoped she was okay to drive and talk at the same time. "But I'll be back next Monday. Hey, you managed a whole three months without me; a week should be nothing."

"Yeah, but it's getting kinda hard to lead my team when half of them are doing things they can't tell me about."

He heard a staticky sigh through the phone. "It's nothing to do with you, Don, you know that."

"If it's something to do with my team not being able to do the job I rely on them for, then yeah, it has something to do with me." There was silence, and he let out a breath, his frustrated words still ringing in his ears. In Megan's, too, he was sure. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to take it out on you," he said more contritely. _ Bradford would have a field day with that one_, he thought ruefully. _ Talk about control issues_.

"If it's any consolation, believe me, I'd rather not be going."

"Yeah, I know." Megan had been extremely unhappy after her return from Washington, although the disaster with Colby had occurred so close on the heels of her return that it was hard to tell them apart.

Suddenly Don remembered a conversation in the bullpen, when his shattered team was trying to decide whether or not to believe Colby's story about being a triple agent, right after Megan and David had found Michael Kirkland's dead body. David had argued that the dead man wasn't Colby's handler, but another Chinese spy who had outlived his usefulness. Don had asked Megan what she thought, and she'd paused before answering, "I don't know," with a very un-Megan-like reticence that made him think she was hiding something. He hadn't pushed it at the time, but now it sprang back into his head, and he frowned. They'd heard _some _details about Colby's two-year assignment over the last few weeks, but not all of them, and he knew they never would. It had only recently occurred to him to wonder if Megan's DOJ assignment had been connected to all of this, and now he was convinced that it was.

He hated not knowing what was going on.

Megan's voice broke into his thoughts. "I gotta go, Don. I'll keep in touch, don't worry."  
_  
As much as you did during those three months you just mentioned?_ he wondered, but instead he all he said was, "Have a safe trip."

He folded the phone shut and thought for a moment. Was there anyone he could talk to, any strings he could pull or get Charlie to pull to find out what was going on? He told himself that it was more than curiosity, more than his control-freak nature that meant he _had _to know what was so urgent that Megan had to leave at a moment's notice. No, it was his need to be able to manage his team and plan for their case load without wondering from one day to the next who was going to show up at the office and be able to do the work that _he _wanted them to do.

He let out a sigh, and Liz reached over to caress his leg. "New case?" she asked.

"Not for me, no. Megan's been called away for the week."

"Oh." She was silent for a moment, then said, "I suppose that means you're one short, doesn't it?"

Don looked over at her, taking in her sleep-heavy eyes and her silky brown hair spread across the pillow, and a slow smile spread across his face. "Yeah. But on the bright side," he said, reaching across her to place the phone back on the nightstand and lingering so that his body was pressed against hers, "at least I can keep an eye on you all week."

She rolled her eyes but pulled his head towards hers, and they exchanged a series of leisurely kisses similar to those that had started off last night's events. It was still early, and he wasn't about to object to a little passion to start off the morning on a good note.

Unfortunately, even Liz's warm skin and lush lips didn't distract him from his frustrated thoughts. After a few minutes, he sighed and rolled off of her, flopping back against the pillows. He absently reached for her hand, trying to reassure her that it wasn't anything wrong with her. But she only gave his hand a short squeeze before pushing the covers aside and climbing out of bed, leaving a rush of chilly air behind her.

_It's going to be one of those days_, Don thought glumly.

oooooooooooooooo  
_  
It was one of those days_, Liz thought with a frown, staring at the computer screen in front of her. After starting with a rude awakening and the embarrassment of answering Don's phone to find one of his - their - whatever - team members at the other end, things hadn't gotten any better. She might be on loan to his team for the week, but he couldn't just slot her in to whatever Megan had been doing, given their different skill sets and experience. Her hopes rose for something new to work on when Don was called up to the Assistant Director's office shortly after lunch. An hour later, however, she was still doing a license plate search on some small-time drug runner, even though as soon as they arrested him, there'd be two more there to take his place. She might not be the adrenaline junkie she used to be, but there had to be something more exciting and meaningful than this to her job.

Behind her, David Sinclair had been silent all day beyond a few basic pleasantries. Across the aisle, the presumptive cause of David's reticence sat at his own desk, occasionally running a hand through his sandy brown hair as he worked through a series of phone calls to what sounded like victims of a pyramid scheme. She hadn't asked, still unsure of her footing around Colby after his accusatory comments on the Brett Chandler case. Okay, sure, she _had _been partnered with him in part to ferret out how he was doing and what his long-term plans were likely to be, but she had tired of that pretty quickly. Don had understood when she'd stood up to him about it - eventually - but she wasn't sure that Colby saw her as anything other than a spy for the boss. _Oh, the irony of it all_, she thought.

A movement across the bullpen caught her attention, and she looked up to see Don striding towards them. His face was like a thundercloud, and she inwardly groaned. "Oh boy," she said under her breath. David's head shot up at her words, and they exchanged a quick look before their boss appeared in front of them.

"C'mere," Don called, dropping into his chair across the cubicle from Colby and gesturing towards Liz and David. They rose from their seats and crossed the aisle, David taking up a position next to Don. Liz perched on the edge of Colby's desk, figuring that that awkwardness was better than what would be assumed if she sat on Don's desk. Colby rolled his chair away slightly to give her more room, but his expression was friendly enough as he nodded a greeting.

A rustle of movement caught her attention, and she looked up to see a number of other agents moving around the bullpen, more than usual. She soon realized that most of them were headed towards the war room. "What's going on?" she asked.

Don blew out a breath and tapped the short stack of file folders he was holding against the top of his thigh. "What's going on is a major sting operation in the Valley taking down the remnants of a Salvadorean cartel that's been operating in L.A. for the past two years."

Liz frowned. "Not the cartel that Ivan Tabakian testified against?" That was the case where she'd re-encountered Don almost exactly a year ago. That had been _her _case from her time in Organized Crime, and she should have heard about it if something was going down.

He pursed his lips. "Yeah, that would be the one."

She stared at him. "That's my case. Why is this the first I'm hearing about it?"

"Oh, it gets better," Don said dryly. When she raised an eyebrow, he nodded towards the large glassed-in room that was filling with agents. "Notice anyone missing from the party?"

"You mean besides us?" Colby asked.

Don's lips twisted as he raised his eyebrows in unspoken agreement.

Liz slid off the desk and folded her arms over her chest. "What's going on?"

"What's going on," Don said, his voice tight, "is that we're going out to Fontana tonight to investigate a series of cargo thefts."

"But what does that have to do with this Salvadorean cartel?" David asked.

"Nothing." Don dropped the stack of slim file folders he'd been holding onto the desk behind him. "Not a damn thing."

Liz exchanged glances with Colby and David, hoping one of them would ask the obvious question. Colby's face was blank, and David was lifting his eyebrows at her. _Thanks, guys_. "So…" she started.

Don tilted back in his chair so that his head was nearly level with the top of his desk. "So…?"

She glared at him. "Why are we, as you put it, the only ones missing from the party?"

His eyes were dark, a mixture of anger and frustration simmering in their depths. He was so much more quick to anger than he used to be, she realized. Actually, a number of his emotions came to the surface more easily than they had before he withdrew into himself for five weeks while struggling with Colby's apparent betrayal. Passion and anger were the first two that came to mind, although it was sadly the latter that tended to dominate over the former.

"Which reason from upstairs do you want to hear first?" Don was saying in a low voice. "The one where the only stable member of my team is out of town, the one where half of this team can't carry on a casual conversation with each other, or the one where 'interpersonal relationships'" - his fingers made air quotes as he looked her in the eye, leaving no doubt as to which relationship he meant - "might interfere with our reliability?"

There was silence for a moment. Then Colby said, "Well, damn."

David snorted. "Wright doesn't trust us enough to put aside whatever issues we might have and work together in the field?"

"Hey, you're the one who can't handle something as simple as going on a stakeout," Colby muttered.

"Excuse me?" David didn't raise his voice, but the cutting tone was not something Liz was used to hearing from him.

Colby's head shot up, and his eyes met David's. "Are you telling me you can put aside your 'issues' in the field? 'Cause I haven't really seen it so far."

David took a step forward, and Liz lunged to stand between him and Colby, holding up a hand towards each of them. "Hey!" she said, looking at them both in turn. "Are you trying to prove the guys upstairs right, or what?"

The two former partners stared at her, and she glared right back. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the corner of Don's mouth curve up, and she rounded on him. "Glad you find this amusing," she snapped at him, and the smile instantly left his face. She let out a sigh. "Sorry," she said, taking a step back and lowering her hands.

"No, you're right," Don replied. "There's a reason we're in the doghouse."

Liz leaned back against Colby's desk. "And if Megan was here instead of me - "

"Then Wright would have come up with some other excuse, okay?" Don shook his head. "Look, let's just focus on the case we do have, do a good job on it, and make them realize we're a damn good team, okay?"

There were nods of agreement all around, and Don took the stack of folders off his desk again, the storm apparently over as quickly as it had come up. She resolved to keep a closer eye on him; he still hadn't gone back to his therapist, after putting it off for almost two months. And if the Assistant Director was including him in the list of "unstable" people on the team, that was worrisome.

On the other hand, it was ridiculous to classify _her _that way. So maybe she didn't need to worry about Don after all.

"All right, here's the story." Don rose to his feet before opening the top folder and spreading the contents over his desk. "Lytle Trucking, a company based in Fontana, has been getting its shipments stolen regularly over the past six months; the drivers have been hijacked. They added security cameras in their trucks, but the cameras got busted. Then they hired guards to ride in the trucks, and last week, a guard was killed. Forensics traced the killer to a Latino gang out of East L.A., the leader of whom owns a U-Stor-It in Fontana and a warehouse down the road in Colton."

"Why is this our jurisdiction?" David asked bluntly. Apparently he hadn't calmed down as quickly as their boss had, Liz thought, and a glance at Colby told her he was also still a little steamed.

Don pointed to a photo showing a semi truck hauling a metal box with "Hanjin" written on the side. "The stuff that gets stolen is in containers that come in through the L.A. or Long Beach ports and are headed for some other part of the country, which makes them interstate commerce, which makes it our jurisdiction."

David gave a tight nod. "And what brought this to our attention?"

"A report from a concerned citizen passed on from the Fontana police. Apparently they were worried about a large group of, uh, people of Hispanic ethnicity congregating at this public storage facility."

Liz raised an eyebrow. "That was the wording?"

He shrugged and looked away at the photos. "Close enough. I guess you could say the citizens of Fontana aren't all that into cultural diversity."

"You know what the locals call that town, don't you?" she asked. When he shook his head, she said dryly, "Fon-tucky."

Colby snorted, and even David broke into a wry grin before he said, "That might explain it."

"Yeah, well, whatever the reason, Lytle isn't the only company experiencing thefts, so we might be linking this to other cases in the area," Don said. "The shipment they lost last week had a bunch of RFID chips buried inside, and they've tracked a couple of them via GPS to that public storage facility owned by our suspects."

"And they want us to go and get it back?" David asked.

Don nodded. "Apparently it's a valuable shipment, and they really want it back instead of writing it off as a loss."

"What kind of shipment?" Liz asked.

"That, we don't know. 'Proprietary information', apparently."

Colby leaned back in his chair. "They want us to get involved in something that someone's already been killed for, and they're not willing to tell us what it's about?"

Don spread his hands wide. "Believe me, I'm not happy about it either, but there's nothing we can do. On the bright side, all the evidence indicates that it's not an inside job, so if the stuff is at this U-Stor-It, that should be the end of it."

"Why's that?" Colby asked.

"Well, last month they lost two containers of consumer electronics, but also a shipment of Barbie doll knockoffs and a whole forty-foot container of Legos. I mean, I know Christmas is coming, but the thieves aren't gonna make a killing off those." Don reached up and rubbed at the top of his ear as he spoke.

Liz blinked. Suddenly, a vivid memory flashed into her head of last night, her tongue running over the shell of that same ear before taking the lobe into her mouth while his hands were -

She quickly looked away and forced the memory back down, hoping her cheeks weren't flaming. _This is exactly why you're not supposed to sleep with someone in the office, _she told herself. _"Interpersonal relationships" indeed_.

Then a burst of noise caught her attention, a murmur of laughter coming from the glassed-in war room. She soon realized that all four of them were looking in that direction, all wearing equal expressions of frustration at being left out of the operation. _No, there's worse consequences than embarrassment to worry about. _Once this case was closed, she was going to insist that she be permanently assigned to a different team. As well as she and Don worked together in the field, there was no reason to jeopardize either of their careers, or Colby or David's for that matter, by giving their superiors reason to doubt their focus on the job.

She looked up to see Don watching her, but he didn't say anything. "So, what's the game plan?" she asked brightly.

He looked at her curiously for a second, but all he said was, "Well, finish up what you're working on and check out the background on this cargo theft. Maybe grab some dinner, too. We're heading out after seven. It's an hour's drive, and the public storage place closes at eight, so there won't be any customers around to get caught in the crossfire." She raised her eyebrows, and he added hastily, "Not that there should be any crossfire."

"Great," she said, the brightness fading from her tone. She leaned over and snatched one of the folders off his desk, making an effort not to notice how close she came to that same ear as she did so. Awake since six, and now on a field trip till after midnight. _This day just keeps getting better. _


	2. You'll Be Comin' Down

Chapter 2: You'll Be Comin' Down

Larry: I see two extraordinary minds that can communicate on the purest level a man and woman can interface on. [pause] Okay, second purest.  
Charlie: Geek love.  
Larry: Hey, no better kind.  
-"Bettor or Worse"

Charlie leaned back on two legs of his chair and regarded Amita, sitting across the desk from him. They were in her office for once, a smaller space than Charlie's but with a quieter location down at the end of a hallway on the little-trafficked fourth floor. It was beastly hot in the summer, but this time of year, with a cool fall breeze rustling the long, slender leaves on the eucalyptus tree outside the window, it was perfect. And it was far away from the parade of students who were no doubt knocking on his door to complain about the results of the first midterm. He'd found it was always best to let them cool off for a day or two before listening to their grievances, and it gave him an excuse to spend some time with his favorite combinatoricist.

Amita was typing away furiously on her laptop, head moving back and forth between the screen in front of her and a sheaf of papers on the top of her desk. He could tell the desk was too high for her typing to be ergonomic, but it was the hand-me-down the math department had provided her as a new faculty member: dented battleship-grey steel that was older than either one of them. Heck, it might even be older than his dad. It was clearly intended for writing, not typing, but he hadn't been able to persuade her to use any of the start-up funds the university gave her to purchase something more modern. She'd only muttered something about how the university apparently figured since she didn't need expensive lab equipment or specimens, she didn't need much of anything at all, and he hadn't been able to drag out of her how much money they'd given her. He was a full professor, he could look it up in her personnel file if he wanted to, but that would be an invasion of privacy that was likely to get him in big trouble with his girlfriend if not his department chair.

"There," she finally said, hitting one last key and sitting back in her task chair. At least the chair had been built for twenty-first century activities, he thought. "The problem with e-mail is, even though you can answer it whenever you want, people expect you to answer it right away. And the students are the worst."

"Midterm grades are in?" he asked, balancing on the back two legs of the chair.

"No, not yet. I haven't entered everything from the last exam yet."

He frowned. "I thought you had a TA for your class."

"I do, but I like to enter the grades myself. It helps me keep track of how each student is doing."

"Amita, the only thing that matters with regards to how well they're doing is the letter grade they get at the end of the course." She looked up at him, and he hurried on, "It's great that you're concerned about your students, but sometimes you've got to delegate the work to someone else."

Two parallel lines formed between her elegant eyebrows. "If I don't at least enter the grades, I have no idea about how well they understand the material. I don't grade their homework. I don't talk to them in problem sessions. I feel like I understood how well the class was doing much better when I was a TA myself than I do now that I'm the one teaching the class. That seems backwards to me."

"Don't you get a sense of how well they're doing from the questions they ask in class?"

"Charlie, I teach at 9 AM. I'm lucky if a third of the students show up on any given day."

"Good point." Even his afternoon classes were considered to be successes if over half of the students who were registered actually appeared in the classroom. And he was one of the most popular teachers on campus.

He cleared his throat and changed the subject. "So, are you ready to go to Munich after the quarter ends? The conference'll be okay, I suppose, but we can skip out a day or two early and head out to the Alps. It might be a little early in the season for skiing, but we can always sit in front of the fire and..." Charlie trailed off as he noticed she wasn't meeting his eyes. "Amita?"

She closed the lid on her laptop. "I'm not going."

Charlie furrowed his brow. "What do you mean, you're not going? The best young mathematicians from all over the world will be there. You have to go; it's a great place to get feedback on your work – "

"My paper wasn't accepted."

He blinked. "What?"

Amita looked up at him, her dark eyes flashing with hurt for a second before smoothing into calmness. "I submitted an abstract based on part of my dissertation that I'm writing up for the _Journal of Combinatorics_, and it wasn't accepted. Ergo, I'm not going to the conference. There's a complex analysis conference in Banff around the same time; I think it'll be useful for me to go to that."

"How could that not be accepted? It's a great piece of work, it's surely going to get accepted by the top journal in your field, and it's of interest to a lot of mathematicians in related fields of work."

"Too bad you weren't on the selection panel," she retorted. Then the corner of her mouth turned up with un-Amita-like derisiveness. "Then again, I suppose that would make things even worse."

"Come again?" Now he was confused.

She let out a sigh and leaned forward, her forearms resting on either side of the silver laptop. Her deep red V-neck shirt fell slightly forward, and Charlie pulled his attention up to her face as she spoke. "I heard from a friend that there's been some...uncertainty about the quality of my work among some of the key combinatoricists."

"Uncertainty?"

Amita licked her lips. "Yeah." She picked at a jagged cuticle and then flattened her hands on her desk and said simply, "They think that I'm passing your work off as my own."

"That's ridiculous!" Charlie flung himself up from his chair. "Your work is much more analytical than mine, it's more computer-based, and...and I haven't written anything on combinatorics in years."

"That may be true, but apparently it looks different from an outsider's perspective."

Her voice was growing quieter, and he slowly sat back down again, realizing from the expression on her face that this was not the first time she'd heard a rumor like this. "How long have people been telling you this crap?"

Amita looked up sharply. "It's obviously not crap if it keeps me from getting into Munich."

"But it's perfectly groundless. Anyone who knows your work should know that." Charlie stared at her for a moment, and then an idea popped into his head. "Listen, I know the organizers at Munich. I'll talk to them, explain that someone was operating under a misconception when it came to not recommending your paper, and - "

She was shaking her head. "That'll only make it worse," she said softly.

"What do you - " A second light bulb went on in his head, and he slumped back in the chair. "Oh," he said weakly.

She bit her lip. "Apparently the story is that I got the job here at CalSci because of you, and that my paper that's coming out in the _Annals of the American Mathematical Society _is because of you, and that maybe my dissertation got accepted because of you, too."

He opened his mouth to protest, but soon realized there was no point. The people he wanted to shout and scream at weren't here, and Amita didn't need his anger right now. She needed his support. "So what did you say back to this 'friend'?"

"All that I _could _say," she replied with a shrug of one shoulder. "That my work is my own and it's ridiculous to say otherwise. But of course that's what anyone would say who was sleeping with their advisor."

"But we never - everyone knows that we weren't involved until after you graduated. Right?" He'd gone through months of torment, being so close to her and not being able to tell her how he felt about her, not being able to touch her like he wanted to do. He was damned if that self-restraint was all going to have been for nothing.

Her mouth twisted sideways again. "People think what they want to think, Charlie. It doesn't matter that we weren't officially dating until I was no longer your student. People assume there was something going on before that, and they assume that it had an influence on my career choices." She held his gaze for a moment longer before looking out the window. "Sometimes I think it was a mistake to stay here instead of going to MIT," she said so softly he nearly missed it.

Charlie's mouth went dry. "What are you saying?" he asked, his heart pounding, his voice almost shaking.

When Amita looked back at him, her expression quickly changed from sadness to reassurance. "I don't regret us, Charlie," she said swiftly, reaching a hand across her desk. "I don't regret it for a second." He automatically laid his hand in hers as she went on, "I just wish we'd been smarter about it."

"It isn't anyone else's business anyway," he muttered, feeling a wave of relief wash over him at her words and actions.

"It shouldn't be, but the math world is a small community, and mathematicians gossip as much as anyone." She squeezed his hand before withdrawing hers.

"Well, they shouldn't be spreading rumors about you," he said firmly. "You're more than capable of getting this job on your own, and getting your papers published on your own. And then there's Harvard, right? I couldn't have had anything to do with them making you an offer - it's all you, and you know it."

"_I_ know it, Charlie, but I'm not the one you have to convince."

He opened his mouth to say something, but his cell phone rang. With a grimace of apology, he flipped it open. "Charlie Eppes."

"Dr. Eppes, this is Assistant Director Wright. I wanted to thank you again for your assistance this morning. We've just received additional information that confirms your findings, and I wanted to let you know that we're prepared to act on your recommendations."

"That's great." He stared out the window for a moment, forcing down the desire to ask the obvious question.

Wright answered it anyway. "And you don't have to worry - Special Agent Eppes has another assignment this evening."

A rueful smile crossed his face. "Thank you for telling me. Glad I could be of assistance."

"We always appreciate your assistance, Dr. Eppes. Take care."

He closed the phone and returned it to his pocket. At Amita's questioning glance, he said, "The AD wanted to let me know that the analysis we ran this morning is being put into action. And that Don's not part of it."

"You did figure that was the case, since he wasn't the one to call and ask for your help."

"Yeah, I know, but it's still nice to know that I don't have to worry about him, at least for one night."

She gave him a half smile, obviously still distracted by their earlier conversation. "So what do you want to do tonight?"

He waggled his eyebrows at her and gave her a mock leer. "I might have some ideas." That got him the full smile he was hoping for, and he stood up and reached for her hand. "C'mon, let's blow this joint."

oooooooooooooo

Four hours later, Don was already beat, and the most intense part of the day was still coming. If they really were dealing with one of the biggest gangs in East L.A., he would appreciate more than just his three teammates to go into the field. But to his chagrin, Operations was too tied up with the cartel thing to pay much attention to his request for additional field agents, and he hung up the phone on his desk with a little more force than necessary. Colby turned to look at him, and he muttered, "Sorry," rubbing a hand over his eyes.

This whole thing really bugged him: having a counterintelligence agent on your team for nearly two years and knowing nothing about it obviously either said something about the skills of that agent or the lack of awareness on the part of the team. He preferred the former explanation, especially now that Colby was back with them full-time, but his superiors obviously thought it was the latter. Don wondered for the twentieth time what Colby's observations back to his handler had been like. _No sign of any spies here; they're all completely oblivious to what's under their noses_.

Don checked his watch. Still half an hour to go, but not enough time to go anywhere farther than the cafeteria for a quick dinner, and he'd eaten there for lunch. Maybe they could grab some fast food on the way. He blew out a breath and looked at Liz across the aisle. She was flipping through the file folder with the information about tonight's assignment. The tightness of her jaw told him that she was not pleased that she was still sitting here in the quiet bullpen and not on her way to the Valley.

_It's not fair_, he thought. It wasn't fair to send everyone _but _her after the Salvadorean cartel that she'd been focused on for months. Sure, she'd handed off the case to someone else when she was transferred from Organized Crime to the L.A. office, but common courtesy in the Bureau meant letting all of the agents who'd had a hand in a case in on the final bust if and when it did happen. She'd put a major dent in their operations by keeping Ivan Tabakian safe - they _all _had, protecting him from the prison attack that had been covered by a series of blackouts - and this was really just an elaborate mopping-up operation. Still, it hurt to be left out of it.

Don sighed. Maybe it was time to think about asking her to join another team. He didn't want to do it himself; asking to have her reassigned wouldn't look good, considering their (by now) known personal relationship. But he didn't want to see her career damaged because of him. It might not have been six months yet, but he already knew that she meant much more to him than someone to spend the night with when a case got a little rough and one of them needed some release. Hell, he spent more nights with her than not, nowadays, and the fact that most of those nights consisted of actually sleeping together, no euphemisms involved, told him something was different about Liz Warner.

Apparently feeling his eyes on her, she looked up. He gave her a slightly embarrassed smile at having been caught looking, and she narrowed her eyes before gracing him with a smile in return. He turned away to his desk, deciding to spend the remaining time going through his inbox and dealing with old e-mails.

The time passed fairly quickly, and Don called the team together for a final run-down of what they were going to do. He looked around carefully, judging their moods. "Petulant" wasn't a word he would normally associate with David Sinclair, but it seemed to fit at the moment. Colby had the same look of patient resignation that he'd been wearing since the first time he reappeared in the bullpen last month. Liz looked angry but also resigned, her arms folded across her midriff in a way that pushed up the swell of her –

_Red light, Eppes. _

Don rubbed his hand over his jaw and reviewed their strategy: how they would approach the facility, how they would verify the missing cargo, what to do if they saw unfriendlies, what frequency they'd be using to keep in touch with Control. He was impatient to get going, and he knew they were, too, but he ran through it all anyway. No matter how many times you'd gone out in the field, each experience was always different, and one little detail could mean the difference between life and death.

"Any questions?" he finally asked.

There was silence but for the rustle of fabric as David's leg impatiently jounced up and down.

"Okay, Colby, you're with me. Liz, you're with David." He didn't miss the surprised relief that flashed across David's face, the resignation that crossed Colby's features, or Liz's quick hurt look before she schooled her expression.

He sighed and leaned forward in his chair, resting his forearms on the tops of his legs. "All right, here's the deal. If Megan were here, she could say this a lot more gracefully or insightfully, but I'm just gonna come out and say it. You two - " he shot a gaze at David and Colby - "don't know what to think of each other right now. I can understand that, from both of your points of view, but we're all going to have put that aside in the field. Got it?" They gave nearly identical nods, neither looking at the other, and he went on, "And I don't want anyone thinking that we - " he stole a glance at Liz - "are making out in the car on our way down the 10, okay?" That got him a more sheepish nod from Colby and a hard stare from Liz. _Great, now that they're all pissed at me... _ "All right, let's go."

Ten minutes later, Don was easing the SUV onto the San Bernardino Freeway, heading east with the remnants of rush hour traffic. Even in the carpool lane, traffic was nearly at a standstill. He checked his watch. They had some slack in their schedule, but traffic was always unpredictable.

In the passenger seat, Colby was gazing out the side window, tapping his fingers against his knee, his expression blank. Don tried in his head and rejected several ideas about trying to start a conversation, and then traffic kept taking up his attention. Finally, things settled down enough that he could risk it. "So, have you guys gotten a chance to talk?" he asked, leaving it unspoken as to whom he was talking about.

"I keep trying, but someone keeps assigning us to different tasks," Colby muttered.

Don drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. "I know you both have some things to work out, but it can't take place on the clock, you know? There's too much work to do, and I've gotta assign you to the best place for that work to get done."

"And yet we've still got to have this magical conversation that's going to get everything back to normal."

"It's not going to happen overnight." Don shifted in his seat. "Look, I'm going to be perfectly honest with you: it's taking me a while to sort out what was really you and what was your assignment. I know that's only magnified for David."

Colby let out a sigh and leaned his head back against the seat. "Yeah, I get that. Just remember that you're not the only one with some things to sort out."

He cast a curious look at Colby. "Re-adjusting to civilian life for real this time?"

The reply was a quiet scoff. "I wish that was all."

Traffic in front of them opened up a bit, and he punched on the cruise control. "Then what is it?"

Colby spoke in a tight, level voice, staring straight ahead out the windshield. "See, here's the thing. When you were..._questioning _me, you had this look on your face. Like you didn't believe the words you were saying, but they were the words you were supposed to say, the questions you were supposed to ask, so you did. But you didn't believe it."

Don _hadn't_ believed it, not for five long weeks. But he hadn't been able to find a good reason not to believe it, other than that he was in denial or that he thought so highly of himself that he couldn't admit he was wrong. And he had been starting to conclude that it was only denial when a transport vehicle was blown wide open and two prisoners escaped.

Colby was still speaking. "And it wasn't like shock or refusal or anything. Or wishful thinking on my part," he added. "There was something in your eyes that said this didn't make sense, that you couldn't believe it was true." Then his tone dropped lower, and he turned to look out the side window at the five lanes of cars creeping along as they whizzed past. "I never saw that on David's face."

Don let out a long, slow breath. "Yeah," he agreed reluctantly. There wasn't much more he could say to that. David _had _believed Colby's guilt, had taken his betrayal personally, and now he was regretting it with all his heart. But that regret couldn't erase what he had done or said or thought about his former partner and best friend.

Colby reached over and clapped his shoulder, his voice lighter as he said, "You don't have to worry, though, Don. We got your back."

"Well, that's not good enough," he said, tapping on the brakes to cancel the cruise control as the car in front of them slowed. "We all have to have each other's backs."

"Hey, the man saved my life on that freighter," Colby replied. "I know I can count on him in a firefight. And he should know he can count on the same thing from me."

"Here's hoping we don't have to find out today," Don muttered as he hit the accelerator again and glanced at his watch.

ooooooooooooooooo

Two cars back, David and Liz were riding in relative silence after exchanging the usual comments about work and tonight's activities. After a few minutes, David blurted out, "So, how are things with you and Don?"

She pressed her lips together and stared out the windshield. This was exactly why she was mad at Don for splitting the two of them up on this drive. It was bad enough that Colby had been questioning her about their relationship on the last case. Now she was going to hear it from the other member of the team. _I suppose they'll compare notes later_, she thought snidely. _Maybe sharing gossip will help them be friends again._

"Hey, I'm sorry." From the corner of her eye, she saw David casting her a glance. "I don't mean to pry, I'm just making conversation."

"I'll answer your question if you tell me when you're going to forgive Colby," she shot back.

There was silence for a moment. Then David said, "Touché."

She tilted her head back against the headrest. "Look, when Don and I got involved, we weren't on the same team, we weren't even in the same office. If I'd known what was going to happen..." _Oh, who am I kidding? _she thought, remembering the first time she'd realized those velvet-brown eyes were sparking with interest in her. _ I'd still have gone for it._

"I'm sorry, it's really none of my business," David said, tapping on the brakes as traffic slowed.

"But it _is _your business," she replied, folding her arms across her chest. "That's what sucks. It's your business and Colby's and Megan's and anyone else who's going to wonder if their boss is handing out assignments fairly or trusting everyone equally because he's sleeping with one of his junior agents."

He gave a half-laugh. "That's what I like about you, Liz. Always sugarcoating things, never coming out and saying what you think."

She snorted. "It's the only way to be in this job."_ Especially when you're a woman_, she added in her head.

They drove in silence for a while. Then David said, "You know, I forgave him weeks ago."

She turned to look at him, surprised. "When was that?"

He pursed his lips as he stared out the windshield. "When we found out what he's been up to: not just the triple agent bit, but keeping tabs on all of us."

Liz raised her eyebrows. "Seems to me that would make it harder."

"You would think, wouldn't you?" He gave her a quick glance and went on, "But he was walking such a tightrope, you know? Between doing his job here, and keeping an eye on Dwayne, and reporting back to his handler." He shook his head. "He was just doing his job, really."

"That's very understanding of you," she replied.

David shook his head. "I might have forgiven him for spying on us, but I'm still not sure what to think of him. How much of it was real and how much of it was a cover."

"He really is from Idaho," she blurted out. "And he really did lose his dad when he was fifteen."

David gave her a sharp look before returning his attention to the road. "I'm not gonna ask how you knew that."

Liz rolled her eyes. "Hey, if I'm going to have to deal with the negative repercussions of my relationship with Don, I might as well get something positive out of it, too."

"Besides the obvious?" he asked in a teasing tone.

She swatted his shoulder. "Watch it, Sinclair, or I'll make sure you're doing grunt duty for the next month."

"No, you won't," he said, his baritone voice suddenly serious. "You're too conscientious an agent for that, Liz."

A surprised smile stretched across her face. "Thank you. I appreciate that."

He smiled back, a quick flash of white teeth. "Anytime."

The conversation dwindled off again as they drove, but the silence was warmer than it had been. _Maybe this isn't going to be so bad after all, _Liz thought.


	3. Devil's Arcade

FYI, there are 24 chapters in all, and I plan to post one a day. Thanks for the reviews so far!

ooooooooooooooooooo

Chapter 3: Devil's Arcade

Charlie: Maybe that's why you are the way you are.  
Don: Yeah, how's that?  
Charlie: Never allowed to be afraid.  
Don: Believe me, I get afraid all the time.  
Charlie: You never show it.  
Don: Well, that doesn't mean it doesn't exist, you know. I mean, I got a lot of people counting on me.  
-"Hot Shot"

The public storage facility in Fontana was on Foothill Boulevard, the main road through town and part of the former Route 66, the road and the city both caught halfway between the faded glory of that most famous of American highways and the standard suburban sprawl that marked every city in the country. By prearrangement, they pulled into a Burger King parking lot a block away and walked to the public storage facility on foot, carefully checking their Kevlar and weapons before leaving the shelter of the Suburbans.

The self-storage facility was bordered by power lines on the east and a vast concrete ditch on the west that was probably labeled as a river on the map, but would have water in it only once or twice a year if a major storm hit up in the mountains. From the aerial photo he'd perused earlier, Don knew the southern end of the property bordered on a trailer park, probably one of the reasons for the "Fon-tucky" nickname Liz had noted earlier. The outer gates were closed, the main office dark, but at a casual touch of Colby's hand, the gate slid silently open. "Whoops," he said. "Guess they forgot to lock it."

David checked the small GPS unit in his hand. "Still picking up the signal from those RFID chips," he said quietly. "Probably the southwest corner, back by the power lines."

Don squinted into the twilight sky. "Is that a power substation near the back?"

"Looks like it," Colby replied. "That wasn't on the map I saw."

"No, it wasn't," Don grumbled. "Nice of them to make sure we know about everything that might interfere with our communications."

"Do we need to call for more backup?" Liz asked, checking the clip in her gun.

"I would if I thought there was any chance of getting it," he muttered. "Look, we've verified the stuff is here, right?" When David nodded, he went on, "And there's no sign of anyone inside. So, a little observation, a little GPS tracking, and we'll identify the containers and get the local cops to get them back to their owners. Everybody okay with that?"

They all nodded, Liz a little reluctantly. He queried her with his eyes, but she shook her head almost imperceptibly and straightened her shoulders. "Okay then," Don said. "Let's do it."

Ten minutes later, Don was crouched next to Colby at the end of one of the long rows of storage buildings. They'd gone around the eastern edge of the parallel rows, Liz and David around the west, both pairs of agents making their way one set of storage sheds at a time to where the GPS receiver said the missing cargo was stored. A quick peek around the corner and he crossed the empty space to the next source of cover, noting the dark shadow out of the corner of his eye that was David doing the same thing a hundred yards away. He signaled to Colby, who followed him over and then took the lead around the next row of storage units.

There were ten rows in all, and it wasn't until they had cleared five of them that Don heard something. He was in front at that point, and he held out a hand behind him. "Warner, do you copy?" he said quietly into his comm unit.

"Go ahead," came her soft reply.

"Do you hear something?"

There was a pause, and then she replied, "Affirmative. Voices coming from the back of the property."

Then there was a rumbling sound like a garage door sliding open. Far ahead, at the last row of sheds, light was spilling out over the asphalt that had previously been lit only weakly by the sporadically-placed streetlights overhead. Don ducked back into the row of storage units, asking softly, "Any idea how many?"

It was David's baritone that rumbled a reply. "I hear at least three different voices, Don."

_Great_. He thought for a moment. Four on three wasn't so bad, although they had no way of knowing if the individuals they were overhearing were the cargo thieves they sought or random civilians storing their stuff. And the way the facility was set up, there was no way they could get a look until they were visible themselves.

He looked at Colby. "What was the configuration of that last row? Same as the others?"

The green eyes went distant for a moment, and then he replied, "No, they were larger units. Big enough to drive a semi into, some of them."

Don pressed his lips together. That both was and wasn't what he wanted to hear. It meant it was probably their quarry, but on the other hand, that meant things had just gotten a lot more dicey. "Okay, here's what we're going to do," he said into his comm, looking at Colby at the same time. "Granger and I are going to make our way down to the next-to-last row, get up on the roof and see what we can see. You two are going to stay put and watch for any signs of trouble."

"Got that," Liz answered as David said, "Affirmative."

"Okay." He adjusted his earpiece to fit more snugly in his ear, knowing they were all going to have to keep their voices a lot lower. "You ready?" Colby nodded, and they moved out, this time with weapons out and with extra pauses to listen before they advanced.

In a few minutes, they were at the north end of the next-to-last row of sheds, and Don signaled to Colby to keep watch as he climbed the metal ladder at the end of the row. He returned the favor as Colby silently made his way up the rungs. They both made their way quickly and quietly to the edge of the roof, dropping to the tar-paper and gravel surface as they got closer. On their stomachs and elbows, they cautiously looked over the edge.

The last row of sheds was indeed larger. Instead of a series of small units backed up against each other, Don saw larger units that went all the way through the row, with garage doors on both the north and south sides. About halfway down the row, fifty yards away, one of the doors was open. Two white panel trucks were parked nearby, their rear doors open. He inched forward, but Colby's warning hand on his forearm held him back. A figure was moving out of the well-lit space, looking up and down the aisle. Don held his breath, but in a moment, the man in the bright green shirt moved back inside.

Don moved until his head was next to Colby's. "We've got to get closer," he breathed.

"Gonna be hard on this surface," came the quiet reply.

He grimaced. Then he remembered a piece of equipment he'd stuffed in his vest pocket at the last minute. Slowly unzipping the pocket, he withdrew a small pair of field binoculars and unfolded them. Leaning back on his elbows, he raised the small binoculars to his eyes and scanned across the scene.

Don waited patiently until the same green-shirted figure came back into view, this time speaking to someone still inside the storage unit. His brow furrowed as he looked, and he adjusted the focus knob again as if it would change the identity of the person he was looking at. Finally he swore under his breath. Handing the binoculars to Colby, he said quietly, "Tell me if that's who I think it is."

There was a pause, and then Colby spoke, his voice lower and flatter than it had been. "That's Hector Simeon."

"That's what I thought, too."

Colby lowered the binoculars and turned to face him, speaking more quietly and intensely. "That's the guy the rest of the office is out in the Valley trying to take down. The second-in-command who took over operations after Tabakian testified against the cartel's leader."

Don nodded grimly in reply.

Colby stared at him for a moment and then shook his head. "If I was the paranoid type, I'd think we've been set up."

"You mean you're not?" _After what you've been through?_ he didn't have to add aloud.

The other man gave a wry grin, his voice still barely audible. "The way I see it, once you find out they really are out to get you? It's not paranoia any more."

Don raised his eyebrows in agreement. "Come on," he said, starting to retreat from the edge of the roof. "Let's get out of here." He spoke quietly into the comm link on his shoulder. "Sinclair, Warner, we're pulling back. You copy?"

There was no sound in his earpiece, no reassuring voice telling him that they had heard and were following his commands. A tendril of nervousness wormed its way into his gut.

"Sinclair and Warner, do you copy?" he asked more insistently, afraid to raise his voice.

There was still no reply.

He exchanged a quick look with Colby and saw the stirrings of concern that he was feeling reflected on his teammate's face. "All right, that's it." He lifted his wrist and said, "3695 to Control."

Again, only silence came back to him. He repeated the call with no more success. "Damn power substation," he muttered. They were going to have to back away a lot farther to be able to call into central dispatch.

"You radio for backup, I'll find the other two and tell them to retreat," Colby said, reaching behind him and drawing his weapon.

"No," Don said, putting a hand on the other man's shoulder. "We're already split in two, we don't need to go any further."

Colby opened his mouth to argue when they both froze at the sound coming from the far end of the row of storage units they were standing on top of. It was unmistakably a gunshot.

They both scrambled to their feet and started moving in a careful crouch towards the far end of the row. Don tried to keep to the tar paper and avoid the gravel, but his haste was making it hard to do so. Once or twice he heard a crunch under his feet and winced, checking to see that he was out of sight of the open door below and to his left. He didn't hear any shouts or running feet, and somehow that alarmed him even more. Surely Simeon and his colleagues would be investigating the sound of a gunshot.

Unless one of them had fired it and knew they didn't need to fire again.

The tendril of nervousness blossomed into a full-fledged knot of fear, and he had to force himself to go slowly and watch where he put his feet to stay as silent as possible. They were within a hundred feet of the edge now, and he slowed further, checking over his shoulder to be sure Colby was close at hand. He pointed to himself and to the left, and then to Colby and to the right. The other man nodded, and they slowed further, weapons at the ready, inching their way forward.

There was no one visible at the end of the rows of storage sheds, in either direction. The knot in his stomach grew tighter. David and Liz were supposed to be waiting down there about four rows back. Okay, ideally they were waiting on the other side of the sheds, out of sight, but he was still worried. Signaling to Colby to cover him, he made his way towards the metal ladder. Feeling horribly vulnerable, he moved as quickly as he could without clanging his feet against the rungs. He nodded at the agent still on the roof and kept a wary eye out as Colby descended. Then he pointed towards the exit, eight rows behind them. With Colby watching his back, he darted forward across the aisle, turned to cover his temporary partner as he made the same dash, and turned back to repeat the process.

Later, he would wonder if the early phone call that cut his sleep short left him unable to react quickly enough, or if the undercurrent of tension among his team members had thrown them all off. Or maybe the bad guys had simply gotten lucky for once. But all Don thought when the three armed men stepped out from behind the next row of storage units and surrounded them was that it would serve the Assistant Director right to have an entire team killed in an ambush because he didn't think they were capable of working well with the rest of their colleagues.

Don measured the distance between him and each of the three men, then held back a grimace. There was no way he could take out more than one of them before one of the others returned the favor, and at this close range, there were plenty of spots not covered by Kevlar for them to hit. So when the tallest one barked, "Hands up!" he exchanged only a brief look with Colby before obeying.

The gun was snatched from his hand by the shortest of the three, a guy who looked younger than Charlie, wearing a Dodgers t-shirt and brandishing a .38 special like he knew how to use it. "Hands on top of your head and interlace your fingers," he sneered. "Isn't that what you guys like to say?"

"You know how much trouble you're getting into?" Colby asked calmly as he obeyed. "Assaulting Federal agents isn't small-time stuff."

"We're not exactly small-time," the first man said, looking over Colby's Glock before tucking it into his waistband.

Don's eyes narrowed. The face was familiar, but he couldn't place the name. Then the man, who was actually shorter than him, turned slightly, and the profile jogged his memory. Luis Garcia Esteban, originally from El Salvador, lately of East L.A., wanted for murder, various drug charges, and suspected of involvement with human smuggling. _ No, not small-time at all_, he thought, feeling his heart sink further.

They were in big trouble.

"Turn around," Esteban said, motioning with his gun. "Let's go."

They were marched back in the direction they'd come, then down the aisle to the open door of the storage unit they had been observing earlier. Don couldn't help the sigh of relief that escaped him when he saw Liz and David inside, both with their hands on top of their heads and with a man holding a gun on each of them, but both apparently unhurt. He exchanged a brief look with Liz, asking her with his eyes if she was okay and receiving a tiny nod in response.

The building they were standing in was taller than the other storage units and twice as deep. Behind all of the closed garage doors, Don estimated it took up half of the row by itself. They'd obviously done some modifications to the standard U-Stor-It layout. Along the far wall was a row of large metal boxes each about forty feet long, each open at one end. _Ten missing containers, check._ Three black vans were backed up to the containers, five of which looked to be empty. They'd obviously come upon the Salvadoreans in the act of transferring the stolen goods from the containers they'd been stolen in into smaller vehicles for transport.

Hector Simeon came forward as the group of five entered, giving both Colby and Don an appraising look. He asked something in rapid-fire Spanish, and Esteban answered with a brief, "_No, solo ellos_." Simeon's eyebrows went up briefly before he smiled, his look that of a man for whom things were going exactly as planned.

It wasn't a look Don liked at all.

Esteban walked around from behind them, stopping in front of the two agents. That left a man behind each of them. Don surreptitiously looked around, evaluating each of the gunmen and their positions relative to himself and his team members. David and Liz were about twenty feet away, each with an armed man in front of them. That meant six hostiles and four unarmed agents. All of them held their weapons confidently, with no nervousness visible at holding federal agents at gunpoint. Definitely not a good sign.

"Which one of you is in charge?" Simeon asked suddenly.

Don lifted his head and took a step forward. "I am," he said clearly, although all of his instincts were telling him that speaking up was a very bad idea.

Esteban's gun swung up towards him, and he flicked off the safety with his thumb. Don understood then all too clearly what was going on, and his breathing started to come faster. It was a classic control strategy: remove the leader of a group, literally or figuratively, and the rest of the members would be so dispirited and cowed that they would do as they were told.

Eyeing the gun aimed at him, Don felt a dark certainty that in his case, the removal was meant to be both literal and permanent.

Then he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Colby was stepping forward and saying in a tone of quiet authority, "He's trying to protect me. I'm the team leader."

Esteban turned sharply, eying Colby up and down.

Then David and Liz spoke at once, the same insistence in both of their voices as they carried across the cavernous space of the storage unit. "No, I am." "No, I'm the leader."

Don had never been prouder of their bravery or loyalty. They had to know as surely as he did what the purpose of Simeon's question was, and yet they were willing to put themselves on the line for him. Whatever difficulties they'd been having earlier today, they were obviously united right now.

He'd also never been angrier at them for doing something they weren't supposed to. If Simeon wanted the four of them dead, he would have ordered his men to fire on them, not just to disarm them. No, he wanted one person to make a sacrifice, and that was Don's responsibility.

"No, you're not," he barked, staring the three of them down in turn. He knew what they were trying to do, and he appreciated it more than he could ever say, but there was only one right answer to Simeon's question. "I'm the leader of this team," he said firmly, putting five years' worth of command experience into his voice as he looked his counterpart in the eye.

Don knew it was coming, but when the gun came back up to point at his head, he still flinched. _ Funny_, he thought as his heart beat faster, _I always thought that giving up my life for my team would mean diving in front of a bullet, not standing still waiting for one_.

He heard David shouting something off to his left, and he heard the scrape of footsteps behind him as men moved out of the way. But his world had narrowed to the half-inch wide aperture at the end of the gun barrel three feet in front of him. Don had to fight the urge to close his eyes. If his death was coming, he wanted to stare it in the face. He watched as Esteban's finger began to tighten on the trigger, and he thought, _Dad is never going to forgive me when he hears about this_.

"Wait." Simeon spoke from where he stood a few feet away, his expression thoughtful as he looked back and forth between Don and the other three agents. He took a few steps forward and addressed Don. "Your men." His gaze flickered to Liz and then back. "Your people. They are loyal to you, yes?"

Don hesitated, not because he had any doubt about the answer to the question, but because he wasn't sure what Simeon would do with his answer. Finally, horribly conscious of the pistol still aimed at his head, his heart pounding hard enough that it almost hurt, he replied as levelly as he could, "Yes."

"They will do what you ask of them?"

He stared at the other man for a moment as if he could read his mind. What was it that Simeon was going to ask of them? "Up to a point."

David made a noise, but the man in front of him raised his gun higher, and he fell silent.

Simeon nodded. Then he said, "Take off your vests. All of you."

Don slowly lowered his hands to remove his Kevlar, exchanging quick glances with the rest of his team. They wore determined looks tinged with fear. It was fear for him, he was sure, not for themselves, based on their willingness to stand up for him a minute ago. His fingers fumbled a little as he unbuckled the straps of his vest, and when he let it fall to the floor, the rush of cool air hitting his sweat-soaked body sent a shiver down his spine. He slowly put his hands back on top of his head, wanting to appear as unthreatening as possible.

Not that the five men holding semi-automatic weapons had much call to feel threatened at the moment.

The rest of his team was doing the same thing as Simeon and Esteban exchanged a few words in Spanish. David tossed his vest on the concrete a few feet in front of him, glaring defiantly at his captor, who was a good four inches shorter and looked to be pointing the agent's own gun at him. Liz dropped her vest to the floor, her eyes nervously flickering back and forth between Don and the slender man holding her at gunpoint. Colby was the calmest of the three, easing the Kevlar over his head and slowly placing it on the ground before following Don's lead and putting his hands on top of his head.

"You. Leader." Esteban had backed up to one side of the room, and now he gestured with his pistol to the concrete in front of him. "Kneel down here."

Don hated to put himself in such a vulnerable position, but he could hardly be more vulnerable than he had been a minute ago. So he took a few steps forward and carefully went to one knee, then both, hands still clasped on his head, facing the cinder-block wall. Esteban stepped around him, and in a moment, he felt his handcuffs being removed from his belt. "Put your hands behind you," came the command. Don grimaced but obeyed, turning his head to keep his eyes on Hector Simeon, who was supervising as his men relieved the other three agents of their backup weapons, cell phones, and communications equipment.

A second later, Don felt steel closing around his wrists. He formed his hands into fists, trying to increase the size of his wrists, but the man behind him twisted his arm so sharply that he had to let go, and the handcuffs were soon biting into his skin. He glanced at Simeon but then abruptly tensed as he felt the barrel of a gun against the back of his head.

The leader of the cartel was regarding him calmly. "You see, this is more efficient," Simeon said. "Instead of my men having to expend their efforts on making sure your people are under control, they can all work together to load the trucks, knowing that if any of your people do anything out of line, Luis here will not hesitate to put a bullet in your head." He turned and surveyed the other three FBI agents. "Is that clear?"

Don looked up at them, furious at his helplessness and the position it put them in. Not only he himself, but all four of them were being controlled by Simeon and the very visible threat that he had made. Colby was giving a short nod, David was glaring at the cartel's leader as if he could kill by looks alone, and Liz's tense gaze was shifting between Don and the man standing behind him holding the gun. She finally nodded, her jaw tightly clenched.

"Good." Simeon gestured at the large container boxes behind him. "Now, if you please. Everything in these needs to be packed into the vehicles in here and outside. Refuse to obey or do anything to hinder us, and your leader will pay the price. Do as you're told, and the four of you will live through the night."

Don's throat was almost too dry to speak, but he managed. "How do we know that you'll let any of us go?" he demanded.

The man in the green shirt gave him an almost amused smile. "I suppose you don't. But at least this way you have some hope, yes?"

Don stared grimly at the other man, knowing he was speaking the truth. If he refused on behalf of his team and Esteban pulled the trigger, or, if God forbid, all four of them were killed, they'd just go right on unloading the stolen cargo. "Fine," he ground out from between his clenched teeth.

As if he really had a choice.


	4. Into the Fire

oooooooooooooooo

Chapter 4: Into the Fire

Don: I couldn't deal if something happened to you.  
Liz: You got my back, right?  
Don: Yeah, for sure.  
Liz: Okay. I got yours.  
-"Under Pressure"

Liz's arms were getting tired, but she gritted her teeth and kept on carrying boxes. It wasn't a question of pulling her own weight, as was so often the case when she was the only woman in sight, but a question of keeping Don safe. He already bore the mark of Colby's failure to move quickly enough to satisfy their captors: a cut on the edge of his forehead, courtesy of Luis Garcia Esteban's pistol-whipping, was trickling blood down the left side of his face.

She'd had to bite the inside of her cheek hard to keep from shouting at Esteban when Don was hit, and now the coppery taste in her mouth matched the trail of red on his cheek. She didn't want to think about what would happen if the creeps holding them figured out that she and Don were involved. What better way to humiliate the leader of their team than to do something to his woman? It would totally be in line with the _machismo _of these guys. She knew their type from her years in Organized Crime, the Latin American gangs that moved back and forth between the U.S. and the countries to the south, led by men arrested in the U.S. who brought their hard-earned skills from prison back to their home countries and built up powerful and feared organizations.

The Salvadoreans were a prime example. She'd recognized Hector Simeon as soon as the two guys who ambushed her and David dragged them into his presence. She didn't know if he recognized her or not, but she doubted it. When she'd been in the field chasing down the head of the organization that he had replaced, he'd still been in El Salvador, consolidating his power on the home front. The arrest of the U.S. leader, thanks to Ivan Tabakian's information, had left a power vacuum that Simeon had very quickly filled. But by then, Liz been posted to L.A. and part of a different unit.

Still, she kept her head down, not wanting to be recognized. The threat to Don aside, she didn't have any doubts about what these men would do to an agent that had been party to taking down a major part of their operations.

Luis Garcia Esteban was also familiar, if only from surveillance photos. He was now the second-in-command, a distant cousin of the man running the show, and apparently content with his role. The other two men who had brought Don and Colby in were also known to her, although she couldn't think of their names. As for the two young punks who had ambushed her and David, she'd never seen them in her life, although considering their tender age, that made sense. _ Not enough time to develop a rap sheet_, she thought.

Liz hefted the box she was carrying up and into the panel truck, ignoring the leering glance of the younger of the two unfamiliar men. Turning around, she made her way back to the open containers, sneaking a glance at Don as she did so. He hadn't moved since her last pass through the garage-like space they were in: still facing the wall, hands cuffed behind him, shoulders rigid and head held high. Esteban had backed up a few paces so that the gun wasn't resting right against the back of his head, but she had no doubt that Don knew it was there.

Swallowing hard, she looked away.

David was walking past her with a large box gripped in his arms, his face wreathed in anger and frustration. He gave her a nod, his eyes grim. She matched the look and strode on.

Colby was backing away from one of the vans parked next to the containers. Despite Simeon's comment about all of them working together, his men were content to let the three FBI agents do most of the heavy lifting. None of them were lounging around - she was sure that they wanted to transfer the stolen goods as quickly as possible - but they were doing a good deal more supervising than lifting. The man who had marched Colby into the storage unit earlier was standing behind the open doors of the van, watching closely. Francisco Perla Ortega, she suddenly remembered. Which would make the one in the Dodgers shirt his brother, Armando.

"_No, no, no_," he was saying to Colby, and she stopped in her tracks, resisting the urge to look at Don again.

Colby straightened up. "You said to put it in the van. _ En el camión_," he repeated.

There followed a more rapid-fire sentence that she didn't catch. Colby opened his mouth and then looked over at Don's back. "All right," he said abruptly, his gaze going back to Francisco. "I'll put it in the truck."

Liz reached the back of the van in time to see Colby awkwardly shifting a wooden crate in his arms. He took a step back and then suddenly leaned forward, trying to deposit the crate back on the floor of the van. But it fell out of his grasp and onto the ground, the corner of the crate hitting the ground with a thunk and the lid popping off, revealing the contents within. Colby drew in a sharp breath and looked up at Liz. She quickly looked down and froze at what she saw. _Oh, God_, she thought, looking back up again to meet Colby's eyes. He quickly slipped the lid back on before any of their captors could see that it had come off.

The sudden noise had caught the attention of everyone in the storage unit, and in a few seconds, Hector Simeon came walking over, his voice measured as he asked, "Is there a problem?"

Colby's jaw tightened as he looked from Liz to the far corner of the room and back. She couldn't make herself follow his gaze, afraid of what she might see.

But a few seconds later, when Simeon repeated his question, she didn't need to look. The distinctive sound of the gun at Don's head being cocked turned her blood to ice.

"No, there's no problem," Liz snapped in a voice higher than it should be, willing Colby to pick up the damn box and get on with it. She realized suddenly that she was scared to death like she hadn't been since the first time someone had pointed a gun at her for real, four months out of Quantico. But it wasn't her own safety that had her frightened; it was that of the man kneeling on the concrete thirty feet away, the man whose life visibly lay in their hands and in the decision they had to make right here and now.

If she looked at Don, she was sure she was going to scream. So she turned towards Colby and said in a low voice, "If we don't do this, they'll shoot him and make us do it anyway." She took a quick breath to force out of her head the image that her words evoked and kept her eyes locked on his, willing him to listen to her. Dropping her voice further to keep Simeon from overhearing, she added, "I'd be saying the same thing if it was you or David over there, and you know it."

Colby regarded her for a moment. "The thing is," he said so softly she had to strain to hear it, "I don't see how they can let us go. This isn't about fencing televisions or Christmas toys."

As his words sank in, a shiver ran down her spine, and suddenly her fear was no longer entirely for Don. "We don't have a choice," she replied bluntly. "At least this way there's a chance."

Looking into Colby's eyes, Liz could see that his thoughts were matching her own: serious doubts that this night would end with anything but a bullet in the back of the head for all of them.

Finally, Colby raised his voice and said, "No, there's no problem," with a meaningful glance at Simeon. He bent over to pick up the fallen crate, pounding the lid into place with a fist. Liz helped him lug it over to the closer of the two trucks. She noticed two crates already inside, and she exchanged another glance with Colby. Who knew how many more of the things there were?

Simeon followed, keeping a careful eye on both of them. When they had deposited the crate, he gestured to Liz to stand back and Colby to move back toward the containers. Once the two of them were separated, he nodded to Esteban, who uncocked his weapon.

Only then did Liz feel like she could breathe again.

oooooooooooooooo

When he heard the click of the safety being put back on the gun, Don briefly bowed his head and closed his eyes, the first time he'd let himself show any emotion. Twice now in the space of an hour, he'd been certain that his next breath was going to be his last. He didn't think his nerves could take a third time, and he doubted his luck could hold much longer, either.

He turned his head to look over his shoulder, but all he saw were his three agents walking back and forth carrying cardboard boxes and crates. He shrugged his left shoulder against his cheek to wipe away the trickle of blood that had made its way down from the blow he'd taken from Esteban. He wished he could reach up and feel the place where he'd been hit, but his hands were firmly restrained. For the same reason, he couldn't follow his compulsive habit of watch-checking, although he could estimate that at least forty-five minutes had elapsed since they'd been overpowered.

Forty-five minutes of nerve-wracking tension and fear, not just for himself but for his team. He knew they were being used as pack animals for the moment, but what incentive did Simeon have to let them go? It was that tension, as much as the more immediate matter of the gun aimed at his head, that was twisting the knot in his stomach tighter with every minute that passed by.

By straining his head, Don could see the insides of the five open containers. Three of them were empty, another nearly so, which meant that they had maybe fifteen or twenty minutes left. If he was going to think of any way to get them out of this, that was all the time he had to do it in.

But as the minutes crept by, he became more and more pre-occupied with fighting back the rising panic that was threatening to overwhelm him. It was one thing to be facing down armed men when he himself had a weapon and options available. It was another thing to be completely helpless and used as a hostage against his own team, feeling time ticking by and knowing there was absolutely nothing he could do. He softly swore under his breath.

It didn't make him feel any better.

Peering over his shoulder again, he saw that one of the younger men had pulled Liz aside and was holding a gun on her. Don started to protest, then caught her eye and thought better of it. If Simeon thought he was treating her differently than either one of the other agents, they would both be in a lot more trouble than they already were. He couldn't quite read her eyes from this distance, but her expression was grim as she looked back at him, her gaze occasionally drifting to the man behind him, the same way his eyes kept falling on the gunman in front of her. Don finally looked away, unable to take it any longer.

A few minutes later, the sounds of activity behind him changed, and he turned to see that David, too, had been pulled off to the side. Things were clearly winding down, and the Salvadoreans didn't want to take any chances that their captives would be able to try anything. Don felt panic rising again and tamped it down. The moment of truth was coming, and if talking his way out of this was all he could hope to do, he had better be able to talk coherently.

The last crate came out of the container. Colby slid it into the van, and the guy in the Dodgers shirt drew his weapon and motioned the agent back. Colby obeyed, eyes flickering among the six armed men and the three other agents.

Simeon walked forward then, looking over the three standing agents before turning to Don. "All right, leader. Now it's time for you to choose."

Don felt a chill run down his spine. "Choose what?" he asked, unable to keep the uneasiness out of his voice.

"We're going to take one of your team with us as insurance," Simeon said. "You get to pick which one."

That was easy. "Take me," he said, lifting his chin a little higher.

The blow to the side of his head sent him reeling sideways, his left shoulder hitting the concrete and thankfully breaking his fall enough that his head only landed on the ground instead of slamming into it. _Great, symmetric pistol-whipping_, he thought, closing his eyes for a moment to steady himself. _ At least the scars will match_.

"That's not one of your options," Esteban snarled behind him. "Which one of them comes with us?"

"You said you'd let us go," Don replied quickly, straining his ears for the sound of another approaching blow. Instead, an arm hauled him back up onto his knees, the gun jabbing into the back of his neck, a rough hand on his shoulder keeping him in place, staring at the cinder-block wall in front of him.

"And we will," came Simeon's smooth voice. "Just not all of you, and not yet. Now decide, Agent."

Don's mind raced. He wished he could see the faces of his team, although he had the feeling that all of them would be silently signaling that they could handle it. But David might be too prone to lashing out and getting himself in trouble, given his recent attitude, and he couldn't contemplate turning Liz over to a group of roughnecks who would do who knows what to her. Even though he knew how it would look to his team members, there was only one choice he could make.

Praying he would forgive him, he said, "Granger."

"That's me," he heard Colby call in a firm voice, and he turned his head and opened his mouth to apologize.

He heard the rush of air a fraction of a second before something slammed into the back of his head. Then everything vanished into utter darkness.

ooooooooooooooooooo

Don heard someone calling his name, the sound piercing through the fog surrounding him. He felt something irritating his cheek, and when he tried to reach for it, his hands wouldn't move. It took him a second to feel the metal bracelets around his wrists.

Then memory returned in a flash, and he sat up abruptly.

The ensuing dizziness almost forced him back down, but he bowed his head and fought it. "Liz?" he called out, squeezing his eyes shut and willing himself not to pass out.

It was David's voice that answered. "Over here, Don. They took our handcuff keys, but they didn't take yours."

He carefully turned around and opened his eyes. It was pitch black, but the musty smell was the same as that of the storage unit where he'd spent the last tension-filled hour, and the cold concrete floor was all too familiar to his aching knees. Lifting his arms behind him, he fumbled in the pouch at his waist. "Liz, you okay?" he called.

There was silence for a moment, and he lifted his head, fingers stilling around the small key. "David?"

His heart sank when he heard David's angry voice. "They took her."

Don's hands clenched into fists. He'd been sprawled unconscious on the floor while a gang of criminals had abducted the woman who - no, he couldn't let himself think about that right now. It was bad enough that it was a member of his team who was gone. Anger washed over him, and he had to collect himself before he could speak. "How long ago?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"At least ten minutes."

_Damn it._ Too long to follow, assuming their own vehicles were still in the nearby parking lot. "They took Colby, too?"

"No, he's here, but he's unconscious. He tried to stop them from taking her." David's voice was tight with worry, and Don realized he must have tried to wake up his former partner with less success than waking up his boss.

"Hang on." Don twisted his hands around, straining to get the tiny piece of metal in the slot where it was supposed to go without dropping it behind him. His head was pounding and his stomach was tied in knots, but he shut his physical discomfort away and concentrated on the key. In a few more seconds, he heard the quiet click of the key turning and sighed in relief. He shrugged off the handcuffs and stood up, feeling his way along the wall until he got to the door. There was a handle at the bottom, just like the garage door at home, and he gave it an almighty shove, sending it flying upwards and crashing to a halt at the top.

He turned to see David seated next to the large metal container boxes, handcuffs securing his wrists to the handle of the container door above his head. A couple of yards away lay Colby, face down on the concrete, his hands cuffed behind him. At a nod from David that he was okay, Don moved to Colby's side first, unfastening the handcuffs and throwing them behind him, hearing them clatter across the floor. Colby was starting to stir, and Don helped him ease his way to a sitting position.

Colby raised one hand to his forehead, rubbing at a smear of dried blood that indicated where he'd been knocked out. He looked up at Don and froze. "Oh, God," he said suddenly. "They took her, didn't they?"

Don gave a short nod and rose to his feet, going over to David to cut him loose. "What happened?" he asked tightly, aware that he was only barely keeping a lid on his anger. Whether it was anger at the gang for kidnapping Liz or at the rest of his team for allowing it to happen, he wasn't sure, but he did know that it was the only thing keeping him from breaking down with worry, so he held on to it.

David rubbed at one wrist and then the other as they were freed. "After they knocked you out, they were about to walk off with Colby. Then Simeon looked like he was thinking about something, and he told Liz to come along with them instead. Colby started arguing, and they knocked him out, too."

He stared at David, biting his lip to keep from saying what he was thinking. _And what were you doing to keep them from taking her?_ he wanted to ask, but knew that he wouldn't be asking the question if it was any member of his team other than the one he was involved with.

David seemed to see the question in his eyes anyway, for he said in a clipped tone of voice, "Then Esteban stood over you and pointed his gun at you and said they weren't going to ask again."

Don closed his eyes and let out a long breath, feeling the anger shift from David's direction to Simeon's. He'd been used as a hostage yet again, this time to enable them to take Liz while not allowing him the ability to refuse. Not that he _could _have refused, he supposed; they could well have shot him and taken her anyway.

"Why her?" he demanded, including both Colby and David in his gaze. "Why ask me to make some kind of decision and - and then take her instead?"

"I don't know," Colby said, still rubbing at his forehead and looking down at the floor. "I wasn't resisting or anything."

Don looked at him more closely. "Colby," he said loudly enough to get the other man to look him in the eye. When he had his attention, he asked, "Do you know why I said your name back there?"

The green eyes looking back at him held an expression of resignation. "I can guess," he said wearily.

Don shook his head. "It's not that."

"It's not what?" Colby asked more sharply, scrambling to his feet with a poorly disguised wince of pain.

"It's not punishment, Granger. It's a decision I had a split second to make, and I thought you were the one best able to handle it." He shot David a quick glance of apology, but not before he saw a flash of anger across the other man's face. He let out a gusty sigh. This was not getting them any closer to finding Liz. "Do you have any idea which way they went?" he asked David, getting back to business.

David shook his head. "They drove the vans out the door and then shut it behind them. I'm sorry, Don."

They hadn't removed his comm link like they had from the other agents, but when he tried it again, he found it still down. "Goddamn power substation," Don muttered, adding a few more expletives for good measure. "I've got to get away from the interference," he said as he started to sprint towards the front of the property. "See if there's anything we can use to trace them," he called over his shoulder. He had no idea what he meant by that, but every second those bastards had Liz was a second they could be doing God-knew-what to her.

As he ran, he tamped down the fear that he felt for her, focusing on the here and the now. Call Control. Get backup. Find Liz. And then find out what the hell had gone wrong with this operation tonight.

Fifteen minutes later, he had done what he could to accomplish the first two. A team of four agents was on their way to the U-Stor-It to gather evidence and secure the premises, not that there was much left to secure. David had volunteered to stay behind and wait for them while Don headed back to the office with Colby to start searching for Liz. The two men jogged back to where they'd left the vehicles, Don automatically climbing into the driver's seat once they'd reached the parking lot.

All of a sudden, his hand was shaking so badly that he couldn't get the key into the ignition. He clamped his left hand around the steering wheel, willing his other hand to stay still and just put the damn key in.

Then a hand closed over his own, and he jumped in the seat. Colby's fingers were closing over his, his other hand coming to rest on Don's shoulder. "I think you'd better let me drive," he said pointedly.

Don stared out the windshield at the Burger King drive-thru, fighting to keep his voice level. "You were knocked out and unresponsive. There's no way someone with a head injury like that should be driving a vehicle."

"Then there's no way you should be driving one, either."

He jerked his hand out of Colby's grip. "I'm fine," he growled, shoving the key into the ignition and turning it so sharply he was surprised the metal didn't snap.

Colby held up his hands. "It's not going to do anyone any good if we spin out on the 10 because the driver can't keep his concentration on the road." The words were bland enough, but the tone of his voice was sharper than it had been a minute ago.

Don clenched both hands around the steering wheel. Colby's voice had the same tone it had an hour ago, when he was trying to distract Esteban from executing Don. He suddenly dropped his head. "Colby, I - " Don shook his head. "Thanks for standing up for me like you did," he said, his voice rough. "If you guys hadn't done that…."

He'd had plenty of time to think, kneeling on the concrete with Esteban hovering behind him like an angel of death, aware at every moment of the gun inches from his head. And it hadn't taken long for him to figure out that it was his team's show of loyalty that had caused Simeon to change his plans and keep Don as a live hostage rather than make him a dead warning. He owed all of them his life.

"I told you we had your back," Colby replied. "And that's all I'm trying to do here."

Don looked up and met the other man's eyes. He knew that urgency and fear were written all over his own face, and he could see them in Colby's expression as well. _You're not the only one who's worried here, Eppes. And you're not the only one who can do this job. _ He pressed his lips together and gave a short, acquiescent nod. "Okay," he said, letting go of the steering wheel and opening the car door. "You drive."

Once they had swapped seats and were on their way, lights flashing and sirens wailing, Don voiced a question that had been bothering him for at least half an hour now. "Colby," he started, trying his hardest to keep a demanding tone of voice rather than a curious one, "what was in that crate?"

He saw the other man's Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "Uh, what crate?"

"Damn it, the one that I nearly got my head blown off over." _Come on, Granger, give me a break._

There was silence for a moment. "I, uh, I'm not one hundred percent positive, but what it looked like, and Liz saw it too, was…well, it was full of rocket-propelled grenades."

"RPGs?" He turned sideways in his seat, staring at Colby, his voice dropping to a low, tight growl. "You guys were unloading crates of RPGs and you let them go?"

"We can get the weapons back, Don." Even in the near-darkness of the vehicle, Colby's hazel eyes were as intense as he had ever seen them. "There wouldn't have been any way to get you back."

He let out a long, slow breath. "Yeah, but that might not have been the right choice to make. I mean, do you really think an East L.A. street gang has a need for those things? We have no idea where they might be headed or who they might be intended for."

Colby was shaking his head. "If you're telling me we'd have been better off letting them pull the trigger, I'm gonna have to respectfully disagree with you, boss."

From a self-preservation view, he could hardly argue. But from an FBI agent's point of view, he understood that sometimes an individual's life was worthless compared to the common good. And this might well be one of those times. "How many?" he asked more quietly.

Colby shrugged. "Probably a dozen in that crate, at least two more of the same weight and size."

"Damn." Don pressed his lips together and leaned back against the seat. Thirty to forty RPGs somewhere in Greater L.A. One missing agent. He rubbed a hand over his jaw. They'd probably take her to the same place, right? So if they concentrated on trying to find Liz, they'd find the grenades, too. It was a gamble, but with the limited resources he had until the rest of the office returned from their wild goose chase in the Valley, it was the best command decision he could make. At least that's what he told himself as he dug out his phone and pressed the second speed dial button.

And God help Hector Simeon if he so much as touched a hair on Liz's head.


	5. You're Missing

oooooooooooooooo

Chapter 5: You're Missing

Charlie: We've got problems.  
Don: Why? What, the math doesn't jive?  
Charlie: The math always works.  
-"Bones of Contention"

"Aren't you done with your notes for class yet?" Charlie asked, propping his chin in his fists and gazing at Amita across the dining room table.

She favored him with a smile that had only a hint of exasperation. "It's the first time I've given this particular lecture, and I want to make sure I get it right."

"It's a grad level course in combinatorics, Amita. You know the subject backwards and forwards and upside down."

"Yes, but it's different when I'm teaching it. I have a hard time keeping in mind what it is that the students know and what they don't know; I don't want to assume they're up to speed and then find out they're totally lost."

"I'm lost," he said in a mock-serious tone, looking at her silky black hair and the way it hung across the long column of her neck. "Lost in you."

She looked up at him from beneath her lashes. "Charlie, give me another half an hour, okay?" The look she threw his way could only be described as smoky. "Then I'm all yours."

He swallowed at the promise in her tone. "Okay," he agreed quickly, holding his hands up. "I won't make a peep."

Just then, his cell phone rang, and he frowned as he noted the time. It was after 10 P.M., kind of late for someone to be calling. Then he noticed the caller ID, and he understood. Sighing, he flipped open the phone. "Don?"

"Yeah, Charlie, it's me. I need you to come into the office right away."

"Do you know what time it is? I'm sorry, but unless this is really urgent, I have an early class, and…" _ And I was hoping for a little quality time with my girlfriend before going to sleep_, he mentally added.

The reply was terse and pointed. "Liz has been abducted."

His heart dropped like a stone. "What?" Across the table, Amita looked up at him, her soft brown eyes shadowed with concern at the tone of his voice.

"I'll give you the details when I get to the office. Just get down there as fast as you can, okay?" Don's voice was brusque and tense, not surprising considering the information he was relaying.

"Yeah, sure," he said, standing up and moving towards where he'd dropped his car keys next to the lime green bowl on the table in the foyer. "What do you want me to do?"

In a few sentences, Don sketched out the location where his team had been and a description of the vehicles that had driven away. "I'm calling in to have a technician start pulling feed from traffic cameras in the area. I want you to run some kind of search through them for the vehicles we saw."

"I, uh, don't think that Foothill Boulevard is likely to have a lot of cameras," Charlie said hesitantly, fingering his keys. "San Bernardino County doesn't have nearly as many as L.A. County, and - "

"Yeah, I know, but that's what we have to work with." The words might have been desperate, but the tone was confident. Don was counting on him here. "Look, we know who the guys are who have her; maybe we can dig up some information on where they're likely to be going and try working the traffic cameras from that angle."

Charlie strode back to the dining room and lunged for the pad of paper and pencil on the table. "Okay, what are their names?"

"Well, the head guy is named Hector Simeon."

Don said a few more words, but Charlie wasn't hearing them. "No, no, no," he cut his older brother off. "That's not possible."

"What you do mean, it's not possible?" Don asked sharply.

"I mean exactly what I said. Hector Simeon is in the San Fernando Valley tonight meeting with his subordinates."

"Look, I think I had enough time to identify the guy while he and his men were holding us at gunpoint."

"What?" His blood ran cold at his brother's words. "That's not possible," Charlie repeated, letting the wave of fear wash over him and move on. Don was safe, or he wouldn't be calling.

There was a moment of silence. Then Don's voice came back on, much more wary than it had been. "What are you talking about?"

He put a hand to his forehead, ignoring Amita's puzzled look. "Don, I was at your office this morning putting the final touches on an analysis that your boss asked me to do. There's a Salvadorean gang that - "

"Yeah, believe me, I know all about them." Don's tone had gone from angry to discouraged in the blink of an eye. "So you were in on this, too?"

Charlie furrowed his brow. "What do you mean, 'in on this'?"

"I mean every other damn agent in the office was out in the Valley tonight except us. And yet we're the ones who encountered Simeon."

Charlie sank into a chair, a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Don, I - I'm the one who told them to go there. My social network analysis combined with a space-time path geovisualization put him with a cadre of his closest associates at his second-in-command's house near Van Nuys." His voice started to rise. "They even did surveillance later in the day that confirmed it. I don't understand what could have happened."

He heard a burst of static that represented Don's exhalation of breath. "Something went wrong, is what happened."

"Not with my analysis," he said firmly.

"Charlie, it happens, okay? You're not perfect, much as you might like to think so."

He ignored the jibe. "No, it's not okay. If something I did led to Liz getting kidnapped - "

Amita's gasp startled him, and he looked up, realizing he hadn't told her the reason for Don's call. He nodded grimly at her, and she put a hand to her mouth.

Don was speaking again, and he forced himself to pay attention. "Look, Charlie, we can analyze what happened later. Right now, we need to focus on finding her, okay?" This time, there was a hint of desperation in Don's voice, something that he wasn't used to hearing from his always-confident brother, and he felt a chill run down his spine.

"Okay," he replied, trying to project a confidence that he didn't feel at all, trying to compensate for Don's faltering with some bravado of his own. "I'll meet you at the office, and we'll track down the vehicles that you saw. We'll be there in half an hour."

"Thanks, buddy. I'll see you then." The call disconnected, and Charlie stared at the phone for a moment.

"What happened?" Amita asked, rising to her feet and closing her books.

He suddenly realized that he didn't know. "He didn't tell me the details, just that Liz was abducted by the same man who, according to my analysis, is supposed to be seventy miles away and in FBI custody by now." He slowly folded the phone shut and swallowed. How could he have miscalculated so badly?

"Charlie, we don't know what happened. You can't blame yourself," she said, coming over and putting a hand on his shoulder.

At any other time, it would have amused him at how Amita could read him like a book. Instead, he added bleakly, "Yet."

"Come on," she said, shaking him gently. "We're meeting Don at the FBI office, right?"

He finally turned to look at her, and the concern and determination on her face only made him love her more. "You've got class to prepare, you don't have to - " he started.

"Don't be silly," she answered, sliding her hand down his arm and tugging him to his feet. "It's not just anyone who's in danger here. It's a friend."

He nodded slowly. "Yeah," he replied, the implications suddenly washing over him. If something happened to Liz, he didn't know what it would do to Don. He had no idea how strongly his brother felt about her, but the fact that the four of them had been spending time together spoke volumes. Don had never been one to talk about the women in his life - even the one he was engaged to - much less go on double dates with his little brother. Even their father's initial skepticism at Liz's relatively young age had faded away once he saw how much happier Don was when she was around. And now if she was hurt...

Charlie shook his head. Nothing was going to happen to Liz. They were going to find her and Simeon and put him away, and everything was going to be just fine.

He repeated that to himself like a mantra as they climbed in the car and started down the 110 towards downtown. They would get to the FBI office. They would find Liz. And then he would figure out what the hell had gone wrong with his analysis.

oooooooooooooooo

The drive back to L.A. had taken an eternity, even with the phone calls to Charlie and to the office and then back to David to check on things at the crime scene. The crime scene. Don was trying not to think about what other crime scenes were being created right now, wherever Liz was and whatever they were doing to her. He figured that the longest he had managed to go so far without thinking about her was five minutes, based on his ritualistic checking of his watch and the cold reminder that every time he saw the hands had moved, it meant more time had passed with her in their power. Fifteen minutes before they'd left Fontana, forty-five more driving back downtown, and now another fifty minutes in the office. Closing in on two hours that she was missing. If time had crept by on their drive out, it was leaping forward now, mocking him with every minute that passed.

He didn't have to ask himself why they had taken her. That was obvious, much as it scared him - she was the only female in the group, the most vulnerable and easiest to control. The question was, why had they gone through the rigmarole of forcing him to choose one of his team members first? Megan would have an explanation, he knew. He'd thought of calling her on her cell despite the fact that it was two in the morning in Washington, demanding that she come back here right now and help him understand what was going on, help him find Liz. Now he was hoping desperately that Charlie would have some magical equation that would point them right to where Liz was, so that he wouldn't have to spend any longer than he already had wondering where she was, and what in the world was going on with the FBI and Simeon, and why the _hell _hadn't they taken him instead of her, and what the _fuck _was he going to do if anything happened to her?

Instead, he was pacing a tight path between the war room, where Charlie and Amita were scribbling on the transparent chalkboards, and his own cubicle, where Colby was compiling a list of Simeon's known associates and their addresses. It wasn't taking too long, considering that Charlie had been using a similar list that morning. And as agents started to trickle in from what had been an only mildly-successful bust, they were able to add information regarding who had been taken into custody and who was still out there. He was starting to feel the weight of their looks, as inevitably they turned in his direction once they heard the news that Agent Warner was now the target of a missing persons search. Apparently the look on his face was scaring them all away, for no one had dared to approach him except the members of his own team.

Then half an hour or so after he and Colby had arrived, David came out of the elevator. Don frowned. "What are you doing here?"

_Isn't it obvious?_ the look on David's face said, but he answered, "We agreed I would be more helpful down here than pointing out where the techs should be dusting for prints, considering they're going to wipe down every surface anyway."

"All right," Don said, glad to have one more person that he could count on here by his side. "Go see if Colby needs any help, okay?"

David hesitated for only a fraction of a second before moving towards his former partner. Don watched him go and sighed. He knew he should be doing something more useful than telling his team members to ask each other what to do, but he was absolutely mentally drained. And the only thing that was distracting him from thinking about Liz was the occasional flashback to hard concrete under his knees and cold metal at the back of his neck as he waited for a trigger to be pulled. Under normal circumstances, it would be as much as he could handle trying to deal with the aftermath of that.

But these were far from normal circumstances.

As he paced back towards his desk, the phone at his belt rang, and he automatically reached for it and flipped it open. "Eppes."

"Don?"

The breath whooshed out of his lungs. "Liz?" he demanded.

Her voice had never sounded more beautiful. "Yeah, it's me."

He came to a dead stop at the opening to his cubicle, aware of David and Colby looking at him. "Where are you? Are you okay?"

"I - I'm fine. I'm actually - well, I'm at home."

Don furrowed his brow. "What?"

"I had my driver's license on me, and, well, they left me at my condo."

"Oh, man." He brought a hand up to cover his eyes. That was a message, loud and clear. They knew where she lived and they wanted him to know it, too. "Keep your door locked and don't let anyone in but me, okay? I'll be there in fifteen minutes." He moved quickly to his desk and pulled the car keys out of the top drawer. Culver City was normally far more than fifteen minutes away, but in the dead of night and with sirens blazing, he could be there in no time at all.

"Don…." Her voice was hesitant. "Bring some bags and stuff for evidence, okay?"

His blood froze. "Oh, God," he said, leaning on the desk with one hand and bowing his head, horrible images coming to mind before he could stop them.

"No, no, it's not that," Liz rushed on. "Not - not a rape kit, just some bags and fingerprint materials. They grabbed my arms a couple of times, and they weren't wearing gloves. I think I might have a couple of hairs on me, too. It wasn't just Simeon - there was someone else in the car who I couldn't see, but we might be able to identify him from this evidence."

"You're sure?" he asked tightly. "They didn't hurt you?"

"They didn't assault me, no. I'm fine, Don. Just - " Her voice broke for an instant before returning as strong as ever. "Just hurry over here, okay?"

"You bet. I'll be there as fast as I can." Don hesitated, aware of the two listeners behind him. _Aw, to hell with it._ "I love you," he added quietly.

He heard a sharp intake of breath, followed by, "I - I love you, too," in a tone of surprise.

"I'll be right there," he repeated and flipped the phone shut. He turned to find his two teammates absorbed in finding something fascinating to look at on Colby's desk. If he hadn't been so frantic with worry, he would have found their transparent attempt at offering him privacy to be amusing. As it was, it was just this side of aggravating. "That was Liz," he said unnecessarily. "They, uh, they returned her to her house."

Colby's eyes widened, and David asked quickly, "She's okay?"

"Yeah, she says she's fine." He tucked the car keys in his pocket and looked up at them. "I need one of you to come with me to help collect evidence, and the other one to keep following up on the traffic cameras. Start at the closest intersection to Liz's place and work backwards; see if you can find where the trucks that they made you guys load split off and where they ended up." The two agents paused, as if waiting for further instructions, and he waved his hands at them. "You two figure it out," he said. "I've had enough of making decisions for one night."

Colby nodded. "I'll do it," he said. "You go," he said, tapping David's shoulder.

David was looking slightly uncomfortable. "Don," he said hesitantly. "Should, um, we have a female agent come along with us?"

Don blinked. Why would they - _oh_. "No, she said they left her alone."

"Thank God," the other man muttered.

"Yeah," he agreed in the understatement of the year. Grabbing his windbreaker off its hook, he said, "Let's go."

oooooooooooooooo

In the end, it was more like twenty minutes, because David wouldn't go over eighty despite the fact that there was only a handful of other cars on the road. Don barely waited for the Suburban to come to a stop outside the row of townhomes before he was climbing out and striding to the front door. Knocking hard, he called out, "Liz, it's me. And David."

There was a shadow behind the curtains, and then the door opened. Liz was standing there, still in her tactical gear except for the vest, her hair a disheveled mess and her wrists marked with red scratches that made his blood boil. Without thinking, he took a step forward and reached for her, and she held up her hands. "Don't," she said softly. "Not until you've bagged the evidence."

_But I have to touch you_, he wanted to say. Instead he reached out both of his hands, willing her to understand what he wanted. She put her hands in his, and they closed their fingers around each other, conveying their relief and shared fear in that simple touch instead of the embrace they both needed, their mutual gazes conveying their emotions as well as any words would have done.

After a moment, Liz stepped back, motioning them both into the condo. David shut the door behind them and gave her a warm smile. "You sure you're all right?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she said, nodding. "I'll be a lot better once I can change my clothes. I stink."

"You're not the only one," David said with raised eyebrows. He held up the plastic bags in his hand and the latex gloves in the other. "You called for some hair removal?"

A faint smile crossed Liz's face, and Don could have hugged his teammate for taking the light approach. "Yeah, a little on the shoulders and maybe on my back."

"Coming right up," David replied easily.

They took turns examining her for evidence, David staying within her line of sight as much as possible, Don making sure he was in her view at all times. He wanted so badly to pull her to him, to bury his face in her hair, to wrap his arms around her and never let her go. It was hard to believe she'd only been missing for two hours.

But a lot could happen in two hours.

"So what happened?" Don asked softly, his eyes locked on hers.

She swallowed. "It's probably easier if I tell it all at once at the office."

His brow furrowed. "What, you think you're going back in?"

"Yeah," she said in a tone that implied, _Duh_.

Don shook his head. "Not tonight. You can go in the morning and give a statement then. You've been up for - " he checked his watch - "almost twenty hours, you've been through a traumatic experience - "

"What, and you haven't?" Liz retorted. At his sharp breath, she continued, "I didn't mean it like that."

He was about to bark back a reply when he remembered that they weren't alone. So he took a deep breath and said, "I just think that you need to rest and come back in the morning when your head is clear."

"And I think I need to do this now, while it's fresh in my head," she replied, eyes flashing.

"Liz, I don't - "

"Do you know why I was the one they took?" she snapped, taking a step back so that she was facing both of them at once. "Do you?"

Don exchanged a look with David, who had an uncomfortable expression on his face. "There's lots of possible reasons," he started.

"But there's only one that matters." She took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. "He saw the way we were looking at each other, Don. He saw how concerned we were about each other, and he decided that the best way to hobble the team was to keep its leader too busy looking for his girlfriend to focus on the stolen goods." Her gaze shot to David's. "Tell me that isn't what happened."

David reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, we figured that wherever they were going to stash the containers was where they were going to bring you."

"Well, it wasn't."

"Wait, hold on a second." Don held up his hands. "Are you telling me that we should _have _focused on finding some - some cargo rather than on you? That's not going to happen, no matter what you mean to me." _ Ask Ian Edgerton,_ he thought, remembering the lengths he'd been willing to go to bring back Megan.

She stared at him for a moment. "No, that's not what I'm saying. I just…." She pinched the bridge of her nose in a way that Don recognized as the signal of an oncoming headache. "I wish they hadn't taken advantage of me like that. Of _us _like that. That's all."

Don let out a sigh. "Yeah, well, me too."

There was silence for a few seconds. Then, "How much more?" she asked David.

"I think I've got everything, unless there's somewhere else you can think of."

Liz looked down at herself for a moment, holding her arms out from her sides. Don swallowed, trying not to think about Simeon or any of his men putting their hands on her. "No, I think that's it."

"Okay then." David backed towards the door. "You still want to come down to the office tonight?"

"Yes," she said firmly, looking at Don. "It's what makes the most sense."

He stared into her eyes for a moment, marveling at her strength. All he wanted to do was sweep her into his arms and carry her upstairs, investigation be damned. Then her words came back to him, and he straightened his shoulders. He wasn't going to let himself be manipulated by some street thug, and he was proud of Liz for refusing to, either. "Yeah, I agree."

David looked between them for a moment. "Why don't I go warm up the car?" he said. "You come out whenever you're ready."

Don felt the corner of his mouth turn up. _Since when does a vehicle need to be warmed up in L.A.? _he thought. Aloud he said, "Yeah, we'll be right out," never taking his eyes off the woman in front of him.

The front door hadn't even closed all the way before he had his arms around her and she was embracing him so tightly that he thought he wasn't going to be able to breathe. Then they were kissing hungrily, ardently, his hands burying themselves in her hair and hers sliding underneath his FBI t-shirt and up his back. He'd never felt this before, this almost painful desire to bury himself in her and erase the rest of the world, never felt that if he kissed her hard enough and touched her passionately enough, he could take back what had happened earlier tonight and wipe away the memory of the choking fear he'd felt, first for himself and then for her.

But then, never before had he almost been killed in front of the woman he loved and then been utterly helpless as she was taken away from him.

Liz finally drew back, her chest rapidly rising and falling, and Don realized that his own lungs were starved for air. He leaned his head forward, resting his forehead against hers, reveling in her breath warming his face and her hands now gently moving over the outside of his shirt. She was here, she was alive, she was safe. They were both safe.

Don stroked down her back and closed his eyes. "I love you," he whispered. There was a pause, and he lifted his head, opening his eyes to stare into hers only inches away. Speaking more haltingly, his heart in his throat, he said, "I - I didn't know it until today." He raised a hand to touch the side of her face. "But I do."

She tilted her head up to capture his lips with a sweet kiss that was in stark contrast to the heated passion of a moment ago. "Sounds like we have a lot to talk about," she said when they drew apart.

"Yeah," he agreed, giving her cheek one last caress before letting go and stepping back. "But first we have some work to do."

Liz reached out to take his hand, and that was how they walked out to the Suburban. David didn't say a word when both of them climbed into the back seat, just turned the key in the ignition and drove them away.


	6. Long Walk Home

oooooooooooooooo

Chapter 6: Long Walk Home

Liz: I don't want to get hurt.  
Don: I know. Kinda goes with the territory though, doesn't it?  
-"Finders Keepers"

"Agent Warner, can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?"

The woman standing in the doorway of the glassed-in conference room was about the same age as Liz but looked infinitely more alert. "No thank you, I'm fine," Liz replied. She'd already had two cups of coffee since arriving in the office; any more and it was going to start coming out her ears. She bounced one leg up and down, as if to demonstrate that she already had enough caffeine in her system. Of course, at the same time she felt that if she put her head down on the desk, she would pass out from exhaustion before more than a few seconds had passed.

"Okay." The petite brunette entered the room and let the door swing closed behind her. "By the way, I'm Special Agent Theresa Pennington, here for your debriefing."

"Nice to meet you," Liz said, half-rising from her chair to extend a hand.

They shook hands, and Theresa sat down, tucking one jean-clad leg beneath her. "Likewise, although I'm sure we both wish it were under other circumstances."

Liz raised her eyebrows in agreement. "Have you been in the L.A. office long?"

Theresa shook her head. "Nearly two months. How about you?"

"About six months full time, but I was here earlier on a case."

Theresa uncapped her pen. "That would be the Tabakian case, right?"

"That's right." Liz sat up straighter, folding her hands on the table in front of her. Straight to the point - she liked that.

She started talking about her previous knowledge of the Salvadoreans, careful to avoid her hurt feelings at being left out of tonight's raid, although a sympathetic smile from her questioner told her that the other woman heard what she wasn't saying out loud. At Theresa's prompting, she then started telling the story of what had happened earlier tonight on their own ill-fated raid. The other agent was good; she almost made it feel like a conversation rather than a formal process, and Liz found herself relaxing back into the office chair. Maybe this wouldn't be as bad as she'd feared.

She figured that in the room next door, Don was saying pretty much the same thing. He had finally agreed to start his debriefing once Charlie and Amita had gone home and she'd been safely ensconced in this room. The professors had offered their delighted greetings when she entered the bullpen, and Don had given them a couple of moments with her before gently but firmly herding them off. She was half-surprised that Don had let her out of his sight, but then she realized that through the glass walls, she could catch a glimpse of him in his black t-shirt, seated across the table from a Hispanic man she vaguely recognized from some gang task force or another. It was reassuring to know that he was there, even if she had no intention of talking to him until she was done here.

Before she knew it, the questions had gotten more specific, and she was explaining how she and David had been ambushed, giving a detailed description of the two men who had overpowered them and the three more who had escorted Don and Colby into the oversized storage unit. She knew it was going to get tricky from here, and she sat up straight again, taking a deep breath.

"So you can positively identify all of the men who were there?" Agent Pennington was asking.

"Except the youngest two, yes. And the man who was in the car with me later."

"We'll get there," Theresa said with a warm smile, reaching up to re-do her ponytail and smoothing back some strands that had escaped the elastic band. "You need a break?"

Liz looked at the wall clock and was surprised to find that an hour had passed already. "No, I'd rather keep going," she said in a firm voice.

"Okay then." Theresa looked down at her notes. "What happened once the four of you were in the storage unit?"

She licked her lips and started in a low tone to talk about the threats to Don, first the initial one of eliminating him as the leader of their team, and then the way he'd been held as a hostage in front of them. Theresa's brown eyes went wide when she described how close he had come to being shot in front of them not once, but twice. Liz didn't know if the other woman was aware of her relationship with Don, but if she was, she was hiding it well. Then again, if she'd only been in Los Angeles for a couple of months, she might not be familiar with all of the inter-office entanglements.

Liz stopped talking for a moment, giving her questioner a moment to finish the notes she was taking. The conversation was being recorded, of course, but the notes were a valuable backup in case something went wrong with the recording. They also were used to save non-verbal details not apparent on the video, as well as any thoughts or leads that the debriefer wanted to note but didn't want to interrupt the flow of the story by saying out loud.

"Okay, so then what?" Theresa asked. "They made you unload the rest of the stolen cargo?"

"Right." Liz wetted her lips and went on, going over the details of that terrifying forty-five minutes. She started to tense up when she got to the part where she and Colby had inadvertently seen the contents of one of the boxes, leading to another immediate threat to Don's life. But Theresa's expression indicated that she already knew of the RPGs. Liz frowned. "I guess I'm the last one to get debriefed?"

"Yeah, I talked to Granger earlier when you were on your way back. We've already got a dozen agents searching for the contents of those crates and more on the way."

Liz kept going on an even keel until she got to the point where Don was forced to choose among his team members and then knocked unconscious. Then she started jogging her foot up and down, the remnants of the caffeine apparently surfacing again. "Then Simeon looked me over and said he'd changed his mind, and I was going to come along with him. Colby started fighting the guy who was holding him, and they knocked him out. Then Simeon said he would kill Don if I didn't go, so…" She shrugged and met Theresa's eyes, pushing back the memory of the Salvadorean standing over Don's unconscious body and aiming a gun at his chest. "So I went."

The brunette nodded and scribbled down a few words. "Did they take you in one of the trucks?"

"No, Simeon had a car parked up near the front. He must have come after we entered. It was a fairly new BMW, dark color, license plate 5DTX 213. The driver was already in the car. Simeon made me get in the back and kept his gun on me the whole time."

"And where did they take you?"

"We turned left out of the lot, and in the rearview mirror, I saw all of the trucks and vans going the other way." She gave an apologetic shrug, and Theresa nodded with a small frown. "Simeon said we were going to his place, that he had something special planned." Liz rolled her eyes and tried to show that she had just shrugged off his threats, but the truth was, she had been terrified. She hadn't heard any gunshots when they left Don and the others behind, but that didn't mean they were all right. Even if they were, she knew there was no way for them to track her, and being alone in the hands of these men was one of the worst things she could imagine.

"That must have freaked you out," Theresa replied, her eyes wide again.

She thought for a moment about how to phrase it. "The thing was," she said slowly, "what scared me more than anything else was that the longer I was with him, the more likely it was that he would recognize me. Especially once it seemed like it was all part of his plan."

The other agent tilted her head to the side. "That kidnapping you was part of his plan? How could that be? How could he have expected to run into you out there?"

"I don't know." Liz shook her head. "See, at first, he was talking about how upset my...my boyfriend must be, and that the FBI was going to spend all of their time looking for me and never find me, and that in the meantime, his crew was going to get away free and clear."

"Your boyfriend?" Theresa was frowning in confusion.

_So she didn't know,_ Liz thought. Then something else occurred to her, and she looked at the mirror hiding the recording equipment and grimaced. _Guess this makes it official._ "Agent Eppes and I have been seeing each other for several months," she said matter-of-factly.

The petite agent's mouth formed an O for a second, but she recovered quickly. "That's why they took you?"

"That's what he told me." As frightened as she'd been in the car, she'd also been furious: at Simeon for taking advantage of their relationship, at herself for obviously not being able to hide her emotions well enough in the U-Stor-It, and even irrationally at Don for getting them into this mess. It was a worst-case scenario come to life, and there was nothing she could do about it.

And then the scene had changed. Liz said, "But then he called someone and said, 'I have her,' and then from what I could hear, it sounded like he was discussing the details of handing me over to someone else."

"He said all that in front of you?" Theresa's expression was skeptical.

"In Spanish, yes. He thought I couldn't understand any of it."

Her head tilted to the other side. "Why is that?"

Liz licked her lips. "When we first started driving, he and the driver...well, they made some pretty graphic threats about what they were going to do to me once we were at our destination." She took a deep breath. "I knew he was watching me - they were both watching me - and I managed to look uncertain, like I had no idea what they were talking about. So they figured I couldn't understand them, and then they talked freely."

Theresa's expression was full of sympathy. "That must have been awful for you."

"Yeah, it pretty much sucked," she said in the understatement of the year, staring down at the table and forcing back the memory of the fear she'd felt at their threats of violation, while trying to hold on to the sensory details of what she had heard and seen. "I saw the driver's eyes in the mirror, but no more of his face than that. Light brown eyes, dark brown hair, medium to light complexion. Probably less than six feet tall, but I never saw him standing up. He wasn't a native Spanish speaker, although he was fluent."

"What makes you say that? Did he have an accent?" Theresa was scribbling furiously on a sheet of paper she'd torn off from the pad.

"No, no accent. But his phrasing was a little too formal, he didn't use any slang, things like that. It made him sound like he'd learned from a textbook rather than out in the real world."

"Anything else?" Theresa waved at a colleague passing by in the hall, motioning him to come in. When Liz shook her head, she folded the piece of paper and handed it to the man, who Liz suddenly realized was the same one who had been taking Don's statement, which meant he must be finished. She looked around as Theresa gave instructions to the man about where to deliver Liz's description of the driver, but she didn't see him. _Probably watching through the one-way glass_, she thought grumpily. On the other hand, if he was, that meant she wouldn't have to tell her story twice.

"Okay, go on."

Theresa's voice startled her, and she twitched in her seat. "Right. Um, so we drove down the 10, back into L.A. I knew that the gang used to be based out of East L.A, so I figured that's where we were going. Then just as we hit West Covina, Simeon got a call. It was one of his underlings, telling him about what went down in the Valley."

"Which was a whole lot of nothing," Theresa muttered. At Liz's quizzical look, she went on, "Twenty field agents and a SWAT team, and we get five glorified messengers and a mid-level, thoroughly expendable runner."

Liz leaned forward and folded her hands on the table. "I'm not so sure she was expendable."

Theresa's eyebrows went up. "How did you know it was a woman?"

"Because I overheard Simeon. He was furious. Berated the guy who called him for at least sixty seconds, said this was going to ruin everything they'd been working for, and then he hung up on him." She remembered sitting there in the dark interior of the sedan, praying that he wouldn't turn and take out his anger on her because of the FBI shirt she still wore. "He was quiet for a few minutes, then he told me to hand over my wallet. He pulled out the driver's license, handed it to the driver, and told him to go there."

Theresa winced. "Did he say he was going to let you go then?"

She shook her head. "No. And the driver said, 'What about your…'" She hesitated, searching for the word. "Something between 'partner' and 'client'. Simeon blew him off, though, and we kept going down the 10, all the way to my apartment."

"So they saw your name on your driver's license?"

Liz thought for a moment, forcing herself to envision the scene. "Simeon just pulled it out and handed it to the driver; I don't know if the driver read my name or just the address. I mean, one's right on top of the other, so I don't think he could have missed it, but he didn't say anything about recognizing my name." _Thank God_, she added silently. Her face might not be known to Hector Simeon and his compatriots, but her name surely was, given her involvement in Ivan Tabakian's testimony against them.

"Good," Theresa said. "But they knew you're FBI, right?"

For answer, she pointed to the bright yellow letters on the upper left part of her shirt.

Theresa nodded and frowned. "It's strange that they would let you go, then. I mean, if we caught a bigger fish than we thought we did tonight, you would think they would want to hold on to you as some kind of bargaining chip." She quickly added, "Not that it's not a great thing that they let you go."

The corner of her mouth turned up. "Yeah, I was wondering that myself." Something struck her, and she paused, brow furrowing. "The driver said their client was going to be unhappy, but Simeon reminded him that they knew where to find me, and that dealing with the fallout had to be their top priority. Then the driver muttered something about how their partner would be unhappy even if they _did _bring me to him, but Simeon was dialing his phone, and I don't think he heard that."

"What do you think he meant by it?"

"I don't know." Liz shook her head. "I have no idea who they were talking about, but it wasn't someone who was part of the Salvadorean organization. There was a kind of distance in the words they used to describe him."

Theresa pursed her lips. "So they kidnap you and tell you out loud that it's to distract your boyfriend and put a stumbling block in the way of your team finding the stolen cargo. Then they say behind your back that they took you as part of a deal with some third party. But when things go south up in the Valley, they decide to just drop you off at home?"

"That pretty much sums it up, yeah."

There was a pause. Then Theresa said, "That's weird."

Liz raised her eyebrows in agreement, refusing to voice the thought that had been bothering her ever since Simeon pulled out her driver's license. _Of course, they do know where I live, so if they change their minds..._

"All right, did they say anything else in the car?"

She shook her head. "That last phone call Simeon made was to the Ortegas, two of the guys who were with us in the storage unit. But he was just asking them if they had arrived without any trouble, and they said everything was fine."

"What time was that call?" Theresa asked quickly.

Liz blinked. _I should have thought of that_. "I'm not sure. We were west of downtown at that point, so probably an hour after we left Fontana."

"So the stolen goods are somewhere within an hour's drive of where they started."

"Less than that; I heard one of them say that they'd been waiting for Simeon's call."

"Good." Theresa wrote that down and looked up at her. "And then what happened at your place?"

She swallowed and looked down. "Simeon forced me inside and the driver stayed in the car. He, um, he took my handcuffs and restrained me, said that by the time I got free, they'd be long gone."

"Did he handcuff you _to _something?"

She really hoped Don wasn't in the monitoring room listening to this. "Yeah. To the headboard of my bed."

Theresa's eyes shot up to hers, full of sympathy and shock. "Did he - "

Liz shook her head firmly. "He looked at me like..." She stopped and licked her lips nervously. "He made my skin crawl, but he didn't make any threats. The only time he actually threatened me was in the car, in Spanish, and I think that was just to see if I understood him."

"Well, that's something, at least." They shared an understanding smile, and Theresa went on, "So how long did it take you to get loose?"

"Almost an hour." She'd struggled with herself over whether to try to break the railing of the headboard, but in the end she'd been too stubborn to destroy one of her only real pieces of furniture. The bottle of hand lotion on the nightstand had made her wrists slippery enough to wriggle out of the cuffs, although it had taken much longer than she expected. She'd worked frantically, wondering if anyone was looking for her and worrying all the while about Don, unconscious on that cold cement floor. "Then I called Don as soon as I was free, and he and David came by and collected the evidence." She frowned. Someone was going to have to go back for the handcuffs, since she'd completely forgotten to have them bagged. Subconsciously, she probably hadn't wanted to mention them in front of Don, but she was a little too tired to be analyzing and second-guessing herself right now.

There would be plenty of time for that in the morning.

Theresa asked a few more questions for clarification, but now that the story was over, Liz felt like she could barely keep her eyes open. Noting the clock on the wall, she realized that she'd been awake for almost twenty-four hours, with multiple adrenaline rushes in between that had further sapped her strength. The other agent seemed to notice her flagging energy, for she kept her questions short and simple, giving her a reassuring smile now and then, and all in all acting like being up all night was no big deal. "Were you on the raid earlier?" Liz asked abruptly.

"Yeah, I was," Pennington replied. "But then, I'm a bit of a night owl, so they often call me in when there's a late-night operation. Gives me an excuse as to why I'm bleary-eyed before noon the next day, unlike my usual sleepy-owl imitation." She gave a small smile and said, "Well, I think that's it. Get some rest now, you hear?" She reached across the table and laid a hand on Liz's forearm. "Glad it turned out okay."

_I'm not sure it has yet_, Liz thought, but out loud she said, "Thanks. Thanks for everything." She gestured at the note-taking paraphernalia, trying to convey her gratitude at everything the other woman had done to try and put her at ease.

When Theresa opened the door to leave, Liz wasn't surprised to see Don waiting on the other side. The shorter woman gave him a warm smile and gestured for him to go in, flashing Liz a quick wink before she turned away.

Liz rose from her chair as he came in, and they wordlessly embraced. She laid her head on his shoulder, not caring if the entire office was watching, although a quick peek told her that the bullpen was empty. Considering that it was somewhere between four and five in the morning, she wasn't surprised.

Don's arms were tight around her, one hand gently stroking her upper back in a calming, repetitive motion that made her relax further into him. Liz could feel his heartbeat underneath her right ear, and it was so beautifully reassuring after the terrors of the night that she wanted to stand there forever.

But she _was _exhausted, and she knew he must be, too, and so she pulled back slightly to look at him. For a moment, she caught a flash of emotion in his eyes so deep and intense that she knew that however impulsive his earlier words on the phone might have been, he truly meant them.

And that was something she really wasn't ready to deal with right now.

Liz opened her mouth to say something, but Don tilted his head forward and dropped a kiss on her lips. She responded briefly, then pulled back, looking around a little nervously. He gave her an understanding smile and caressed her hair once before letting her go. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna make a habit of it," he said lightly. "Special circumstances and all."

"Yeah," she agreed with a tired smile.

"So, uh, you ready to go?"

She nodded. "Ready when you are."

"Okay. I figured we'd go to my place tonight and then tomorrow morning - well, in a few hours, I guess - I can take you to your place to grab a few things."

Liz frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you're going to need some clothes and things for the next few weeks, right?"

Either she was more tired than she knew, or she had missed something. "What are you talking about?"

Don raised a hand to scratch the back of his neck. "I mean, you don't have to stay with me if you don't want to, but there's no way you're going back home right now."

She folded her arms across her chest. "And why not?"

"Liz, I heard what you said." He gestured towards the table where she and Theresa had been sitting. "They know where you live. They know how to get to you. Until we catch these guys, there's no way you can stay in your house."

"Don, the FBI has been trying to catch these guys for over two years. What makes you think it's going to happen any time soon?"

His jaw stubbornly set, he went on, "I will not let you put yourself in danger like that."

"Oh, you won't _let _me, huh?" Liz took a step closer, her tiredness suddenly gone. "And are you going to _let _me be an agent and do my job, or am I going to find myself assigned to desk duty for the foreseeable future?"

Don stared at her. "What the hell are you talking about?"

She drew in a deep breath as she suddenly realized what she was saying. The words she hadn't said to Theresa, the thoughts she hadn't shared about the implications of what had happened tonight, were about to come spilling forth, and she was not about to let that happen in the confines of the FBI office, especially in a room with one-way glass and microphones. "Nothing," she replied wearily, asking with her eyes that he let it drop, at least for now. "I'm sorry, I'm way too tired right now."

"Okay, it's all right," Don said, the wrinkles on his forehead and the hesitant tone of his voice indicating that he didn't understand what was going on, but he wasn't going to push it. "Listen, I - " He reached out to touch her face but then drew back. "I'd be saying the same thing if it was Megan or any other female agent, you know. Heck, I'd probably even say it if it was Colby or David, though I'd definitely make them sleep on the couch."

The corners of her mouth turned up. "Yeah, okay," she replied softly.

"So, can I take you back to my place? Or there's a spare room at Charlie's, if you'd prefer; I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

_That's better_, Liz thought. _Don't just tell me what to do. _Aloud she said, "Your place is fine." The thought of going back to her condo, of trying to sleep in the bed Hector Simeon had chained her to, made her stomach turn. While she wasn't opposed to the idea of staying somewhere else for a while, it was the way Don had taken control of the situation and assumed she would do whatever he said that had raised her hackles. If the helplessness of her abduction had brought to life one of her worst fears, the professional fear of being reduced to someone who had to be protected and coddled was almost as strong. She knew the implications of the Salvadoreans knowing where she lived, and it was only a matter of time before they figured out exactly who she was and what she had done to them. But it should be her call as to what to do about it, not Don's.

That's how they train us to deal with victims, she suddenly thought. Don't take away their ability to make decisions, allow them to keep some measure of control. She put her hand over her eyes briefly and squeezed her temples. _I'm not a victim_, she told herself. _Nothing happened to me._

"You all right?" Don asked, concern lacing his voice.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Liz replied quietly, looking up at him and tentatively reaching out to take his hand. To reassure him, she gave him a smile that probably didn't reach her eyes, but was the best she could do at the moment. "Let's go home."

End of Part 1


	7. Thunder Road

ooooooooooooooooo

**Part 2**

Sometimes the truth just ain't enough  
Or it's too much in times like this  
Let's throw the truth away  
We'll find it in this kiss  
In your skin upon my skin  
In the beating of our hearts  
May the living let us in  
Before the dead tear us apart  
-Bruce Springsteen, "Worlds Apart"

ooooooooooooooooo

Chapter 1: Thunder Road

Megan (to Colby): Why don't we try and only break one law a day.  
-"Scorched"

Los Angeles International Airport, better known as LAX, is a hodgepodge of individual terminals and gates. Some were recently rebuilt in steel and glass, some were renovated for the 1984 Olympics and were now more than a little dated, and some should be in a museum as an example of 1950s architecture and design, _not _still in use as a modern airport terminal. Megan wondered why it was that she always seemed to end up in one of the latter, especially when she was bleary-eyed from spending five hours in a tin can and being up since - she squinted at the scratched plexiglass covering the clock on the wall - 3 AM local time.

She docilely followed the crowd down the escalator towards baggage claim, willing the caffeine from the coffee she'd had somewhere over Arizona to combine with the three hours of catnapping she'd had between Kentucky and New Mexico to keep her awake enough to drive home. She mentally corrected herself - after listening to her voice mail while taxiing to the gate, she realized she wouldn't be going "home" per se. Not that the FBI office wasn't the next closest thing, for all of the time she spent there.

Then again, she thought as she passed the unsmiling TSA guard and exited the secure area, if what was going on with her team was important enough to intervene with her DOJ assignment and drag her back here the day after she'd left, she should expect to be heading right to the office. After reading the files that had been faxed to her this afternoon, she'd understood just how important this was. Her blood had chilled at the stark words on the sleek fax paper describing the previous night's events, her behaviorist's mind already filling in the blanks and trying to understand what was going on in the heads of her teammates in the aftermath of what they had all gone through. Nothing good, of that she was sure.

The voice calling her name startled her badly, and her right hand was halfway to her side before she took in the familiar voice. "Whoa, Megan, easy there."

She turned and saw Colby moving towards her, his hands upraised. "Granger, what are you doing here?" she snapped before she could help it.

He lowered his hands. "I guess that hypothesis of Don's about you being short on sleep was right on the money. Good thing I'm here to make sure you don't plow into the median on the drive to the office."

"I thought Charlie was the one with the hypotheses." She briefly laid a hand on his shoulder in silent apology, and they started walking towards the carousels.

"Yeah, well..." Colby reached up and scratched his ear. "That's one of the updates I'm here to tell you about."

She stopped in her tracks, hearing a muttered curse from the person behind her who had to swerve their luggage cart around her. "Did something happen? Besides what was in your guys' statements?"

"More like the aftermath of what already happened," he assured her. "I don't know if Don said anything about it, but apparently Charlie made some kind of error in his calculations that meant the bulk of the L.A. field agents were on a semi-wild goose chase last night and not around to back us up."

"No, he didn't mention it," she replied, starting off again at a slower pace and adding one more piece to her mental jigsaw puzzle. "How big an error?"

"Well, Charlie spent this morning at the office going over the expressions he'd used to come up with his results, and when he figured it out, he pretty much went white. I eventually got Larry, of all people, to put into words small enough for me to understand." She nodded impatiently, and he went on, "Remember a couple of years ago when that Mars probe got lost because NASA was using feet and the European Space Agency was using meters?"

Her eyes widened. "That's what Charlie did?"

"No, not exactly, but Larry said that was close enough. Charlie stomped out of the office and won't return anyone's calls. Don finally got a hold of Alan, who said he's okay, just won't talk to anyone."

Megan pursed her lips. "So I take it you're dropping me off at the Eppes' house?"

"I would be, except for the other thing that happened since you got on the plane." The warning buzzer started going off at the baggage carousel, and they subtly elbowed their way forward.

"Which is?" She lifted a hand to her forehead and rubbed at the growing ache there.

Colby lowered his voice. "They found the driver who took Liz."

She looked at him and matched his quiet tone. "Not _we have_ the driver, but _they found_ the driver?"

He nodded and reached out a finger to tap twice in the center of her forehead. "Scared the janitor who found him enough to contact the police."

"Where?" she asked, looking away long enough to sweep her gaze over the long span of the conveyor belt and verify her bag wasn't approaching.

"Behind an office building on Wilshire. Cleaning crew found him about three hours ago. They were still working on ID when I left."

She nodded distractedly, noticing her suitcase rounding the far bend and heading towards them. "Not much I can do to help with that."

"No, but once we know who he is, we'll need to know why Simeon, uh, dealt with him like that." Colby cast a sideways glance at the young woman standing next to them who had her head cocked sideways like she was listening in. "And to be honest, I think we're all a little too close to this right now. We're hoping that a fresh pair of eyes will help things to make sense."

"Well, you've got me instead." Megan rubbed her tired eyes for emphasis. "Excuse me," she said to the young woman, noticing the rose tattoo on her shoulder that was nearly covered by her long, dirty blond hair. She moved aside, and Megan stepped forward.

"Which one?" Colby asked.

"Which one what?"

"Which bag is yours?" he asked with more patience than she would have expected, considering how obvious the question was.

She pointed towards the medium-sized suitcase at the back of the belt, half-buried by a huge cardboard box with a return address of the Philippines. "The black one," she added helpfully.

Colby shot her a look but stepped forward, reaching out with one arm and deftly snagging her bag as it rolled by, hefting it over the large box and setting it on the ground wheels-down. He snapped up the handle and said, "Let's go."

"I hope you're not expecting a tip, Granger," she said as they started towards the exit.

The corner of his mouth turned up. "Naw, if that were the case, I'd've asked to carry the other one, too." He gestured at the smaller black bag slung over her shoulder.

Megan patted its side. "Then you'd have been out of luck, because this one isn't supposed to leave my sight."

Colby raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. The contrast to their boss's exasperated words when she'd called him yesterday morning was remarkable. But then, if anyone on this team was going to understand the necessity and the difficulty of keeping state secrets, it was the man walking next to her.

Exiting into the balmy California air, she noted the palm trees waving in front of the parking garage as a welcome reminder that she had left Washington behind. They crossed past the lanes of cars and taxis picking up arrivals, pausing at the traffic light at the main ring road that connected the multiple terminals.

"So where are you parked?" Megan asked.

"Right across the street." He stepped off the curb as the light changed, dragging her suitcase behind.

She bit her lip. "Do you mind if we take my car instead? It's in the same garage, up a few levels."

He stopped and turned to face her. "Don really did send me here because he thought you'd be too tired to drive."

"I trust you behind the wheel," Megan said easily. "Look, I don't want to have to come down here and get my car tomorrow or in a couple of days."

"It's not like I took the bus here," he said pointedly, starting across the crosswalk as the walk sign changed to a flashing red hand.

"You drove an FBI vehicle, right?" When Colby nodded, she went on, "Get a junior agent to take a cab in the morning and get it."

Both eyebrows went up. "That's not the most efficient use of resources."

They were almost inside the parking garage, and she could see the black hulk of a Suburban two spaces down from the entrance. "Come on, Colby. Please? I'll even let you use the onboard GPS." She couldn't bear the thought of making a special trip down here in the next couple of days, as crazy as they were likely to be.

"Not like I don't know where I'm going," Colby grumbled, but he turned in the direction of the elevators, and she hid a smile behind his back.

Five minutes later, Megan's bags were stowed in her trunk and she was buckling herself into the passenger seat, fighting a huge yawn that threatened to split her jaw. Colby echoed the gesture as he turned the key in the ignition, shaking his head as if to clear it. "You okay there?" she asked casually.

"Don't worry, I'm not gonna run us off the road," he retorted more sharply than she expected.

That, of course, got her antennae up, and she turned to look at him. He must have noticed her movement, for his head turned towards her as he finished backing out of the parking space. "Sorry, I'm just a little tired of everyone asking if I'm okay."

"You've been through a lot," Megan replied neutrally. "And not just in the last day."

"Yeah, you could say that," he answered. "Been through a lot of debriefing and monitoring and checking up, too."

She didn't have any idea of whom he'd talked to or for how long after his rescue from the Chinese freighter, in terms of either intelligence-gathering or mental health. She could guess about the latter, though: next to nothing. "All right, but I've got my eye on you," she said lightly.

"So how are _you _doing, Megan?"

The serious note in his voice took her by surprise. "I'm fine," she replied automatically.

Colby negotiated a tight turn out of the ramp and said, "Something about a pot and a kettle is coming to mind here."

She gave a small smile. "I'm not the one who was in a hostage situation yesterday."

"Doesn't mean you've been taking a walk in the park." Colby paid the attendant and pulled away from the booth.

_That's for sure._ She'd felt guilty at the relief that had swept over her this morning when she got Don's urgent message - not just relief that everyone was okay, but that she would be leaving her DOJ colleagues much earlier than expected. She'd wanted to turn this assignment down from the start and had tried everything she could short of outright refusal, for all the good it had done her. When she'd gotten the call early Monday morning, she'd had the uncomfortable feeling that not only had she not been able to turn down the assignment in the first place, she was never going to be able to get away from it. _Getting involved with the Department of Justice shouldn't feel like getting involved in organized crime_, she thought ruefully.

They drove in silence for a few minutes, Colby concentrating on merging with traffic and Megan rubbing her eyes and actually looking forward to the coffee in the office. Once they were safely on the freeway, he said, "You know, after six months I stopped reporting on you guys."

She blinked. "What?"

Colby set the cruise control and sat back, still looking straight ahead. "Part of my assignment was to monitor and report back. I decided all the monitoring I was going to do was related to Dwayne Carter and no one else. My, uh, my handler didn't like that very much, but he knew who the big fish was and that I was the only one who could get to him. So we had to do things my way."

There were a number of questions swirling around in her head right now, but the one Megan voiced was, "Does this have something to do with what happened yesterday?"

"You could say that." There was a pause, and then Colby went on, "David...well, we aren't really talking, and Don has too much on his plate right now, especially after yesterday." He cast her a quick glance. "I thought when I was on the freighter that I wasn't going to get to tell my side of the story, and that bothered me as much as thinking that I wasn't going to make it out of there. So, I guess I learned that I have to when I have the chance."

"Does telling your story include sharing top secret information?" Megan asked with raised eyebrows.

"Nah, it was part of my deal." At her quizzical look, he went on, "They agreed that I could tell you guys the stuff that pertained to you. Which actually isn't anything, which is my point."

Megan pursed her lips as she thought. They were approaching the flyover ramp from the eastbound I-105 to the northbound I-110, a high arch of concrete connecting the two sets of carpool lanes and soaring over the multiple lanes and ramps below. Normally, she would have enjoyed the view, with the glittering sprawl of L.A. spread out in front of them, the downtown skyscrapers visible in the distance and two parallel lines of lights way overhead and to the east marking a dozen planes on approach to the dual sets of runways at LAX. Tonight, though, there were low clouds - she hadn't seen the ground from the plane until they were a few blocks from the end of the runway - and all she saw was the orange glow of millions of streetlights reflecting off the dark clouds.

"I don't mean for you to do anything with it, I just wanted to tell someone." Colby glanced in the rearview mirror and went on with a shrug of one shoulder, "And let you know that if you need anyone to talk to, I'm pretty good at keeping secrets."

"What is this, you show me your classified material and I show you mine?" She deliberately put a playful note in her voice, trying to tell him that she understood what he was saying.

"Classified material, huh?" His eyes twinkled in a way she hadn't seen in months as he pretended to leer at her. "Is that what they're calling it these days?"

She pressed her lips together to hide a smile and swatted his shoulder. Inwardly, she was pleased that he was making a joke, not just after what had gone on in the last twenty-four hours, but in light of all that had happened in the last three months. "Watch it, Granger."

"Yeah, I know. Normally if a guy makes a comment like that to a woman who's taken, he's gotta watch his back. No offense to Dr. Fleinhardt, but I don't think I have to worry about him kicking my ass."

"Not since I'm more likely to be the one kicking _his _ass," she muttered. She hadn't even told Larry she was going out of town for the week; given how early she'd left, she didn't think it necessary to inform him, and it had somehow slipped her mind in the intervening days. Considering how uncommunicative he'd been lately, she didn't think he'd notice.

Colby's voice cut into her thoughts, not the teasing response she had expected, but sounding more serious. "Hey, Megan. Can that thing tell us how to lose a tail?" he asked, jerking his chin at the GPS unit on the dashboard.

"No, that feature's still in development," she joked. But then she saw him look in the rearview mirror again, and her tone of voice changed completely. "Colby?"

"There's a white sedan that's been behind us since the airport." His voice was calm, but there was an underlying tension behind it.

"Yeah, this is the main route from LAX to downtown. There are lots of vehicles you could say that for."

"Not just since the airport: since the parking garage. And it's catching up awfully fast."

"Are you sure you're not being - " Megan paused, trying to think of a more delicate way to phrase it.

"Paranoid?" The headlights from the opposing traffic illuminated the tight grin on Colby's face. "Funny, you're the second person to ask me that in the last twenty-four hours. And we both know what happened the last time."

She didn't need anything more than his words and her trust in his instincts. Reaching for the cell phone at her belt, she flipped it open and hit the second speed dial button. The FBI dispatcher at the other end took down her information and said that there was an LAPD unit two miles behind on the freeway that they'd be sending along. She relayed the information to Colby and cast a glance in her side mirror.

She was just in time to see the passenger window roll down on the vehicle behind them and an automatic weapon extend in their direction.

"Colby!" she shouted, but he'd already seen it. He swerved out of the carpool lane as the rattle of automatic weapons fire came from behind and to their left. Fortunately, there was no one in front of them, so the bullets didn't strike anything but pavement. Their pursuers quickly mimicked their move, and Colby jerked the wheel to the right again, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder. It might have been after eleven at night, but there were still more than a handful of cars on the road, too many for him to veer across multiple lanes at once.

Megan turned in her seat, reaching for the gun at her back only to come up empty. Damn it, she'd decided it was faster to go through security if her weapon was packed away in her checked bag. "I need your gun," she said quickly.

"Take it," Colby replied as he hit the accelerator.

She smoothly pulled the weapon from its holster at his side. _ What are the odds my car insurance covers shot-out windows when it's the owner doing the shooting? _she thought as she aimed out the rear left window.

But there was a beat-up pickup truck in the lane next to them, the three people crammed in the front seat oblivious to the drama going on around them. The white sedan came roaring up on the pickup's left, and Megan shouted, "Get down!" As the sedan drew even with the truck, she saw the driver's eyes widen at the sight of the armed man hanging out the passenger window, and the squeal of brakes was followed by the pickup dropping back and out of sight.

That left their pursuers two lanes over with a completely clear shot.

"Look out!" she warned, but Colby had already slammed on the brakes. The spray of bullets went past the hood of the car and into the concrete wall on the side of the freeway. The white car hit its brakes as well, and Colby followed by pounding on the gas, sending them lurching forward. Megan took aim out the rear window, but there was a city bus in the carpool lane, directly opposite the white car. "Damn it," she muttered.

"We gotta get off the freeway," Colby called. "There's too many other people, and it'll only get worse the closer we get to downtown."

"You're right," she agreed. "Just don't telegraph it."

A quick glance at the speedometer told her they were doing nearly ninety, but it was going to take more than that for her little Acura to outrun the people behind them. City streets were more likely to be empty this time of night than the 110, and it would be easier for LAPD to block in their pursuers. She fumbled for her cell phone as they sped along, Colby occasionally swerving to one side or another, trying to keep both themselves and the other drivers on the road out of the line of fire as much as possible. After updating the dispatcher on their situation, she dropped the phone on the back seat, keeping the line open.

The *ping* of something striking the back bumper had her ducking for cover, and Colby lowered his head over the steering wheel. They were in the center lane of five at that point, with an exit sign coming up fast. "Hang on," he called. Then he swerved towards the exit, shooting across two lanes and squeaking past the exit sign and the bright yellow collision barrier.

They rocketed down the exit ramp, brakes squealing as they slowed from ninety to near zero in a matter of seconds. The stench of burning rubber tickled her nose. Looking behind them, Megan saw the white sedan overshooting the exit, then screeching to a dead stop on the freeway. Then they dropped below the elevated freeway lanes, and she couldn't see anything more.

When they came to the traffic light at the bottom of the exit ramp, Colby yanked the wheel to the right and hit the gas again, speeding through the deserted streets and periodically taking a cross-street, turning the wheel left or right seemingly at random. Megan kept facing the rear of the car, watching for their pursuers, some corner of her mind registering gratitude that she wasn't prone to carsickness. But the one time she saw a white car, it turned into a driveway a couple of blocks behind them.

Finally, at least ten minutes after they had left the freeway, Colby slowed to a normal driving speed. "Any sign of 'em?" he asked.

"No, none." She turned around and lowered the gun to her lap, leaning her head back against the headrest, watching the boarded-up shop windows pass by and feeling her heart rate slow down to something approximating normal.

There was a pause. Then Colby said dryly, "So, welcome back to California."

She snorted. "Remind me not to have you pick up any of the Bureau's out-of-town guests from LAX if this is how you're gonna show them around town."

He stopped at a red light, the first one he hadn't blown through since leaving the freeway, and squinted up at the street signs. "Do you have any idea where the hell we are? Besides the middle of South Central?"

"Didn't you get the memo, Granger? The mayor renamed it 'South L.A.' to get rid of the neighborhood's bad reputation."

Colby gave her a _you've got to be kidding _look. "Yeah, it's sure done wonders to increase the police presence around here. That's why no one noticed us driving along at fifty and skipping all of the red lights."

A tired smile stretched across her face. "Told ya you could use this thing," she said, reaching out to switch the GPS unit on.

He pulled over to the side of the road beneath one of the few functioning streetlights and studied the box on the dashboard. "You okay?" he asked after a moment.

"Yeah, fine. You?"

He nodded. Then he turned to look at her, the streetlight above throwing the troubled expression on his face into stark relief. "The thing I want to know is," he said, voicing the same thought that was on her mind, "who exactly were they after?"

Megan met his eyes. "Like we didn't all have enough on our plates right now," she replied, and he nodded again in grim agreement.


	8. The Fuse

oooooooooooooooo

Chapter 2: The Fuse

Colby: Come on, man, how can you not trust people who are working to help orphans?  
Don: Well, same way you don't trust anybody….How well does anyone know who they're working with?  
Colby: The way I see it, you got a team, you gotta trust 'em. That's just the way it works.  
-"Money for Nothing"

Colby pulled the silver Acura into the FBI parking garage and found a spot close to the elevators, which wasn't hard to do at a quarter to midnight. Two LAPD cars followed, one on either side, and he turned off the ignition and sighed. "Think we can pull rank and say we got it from here?"

In the passenger seat, Megan rubbed her forehead. "Don't I wish."

They climbed out of the car, slowly, just in case the conversation they'd had through the FBI dispatcher on the way here hadn't convinced the cops that they were the good guys. But there was no mistrust on the part of the uniformed officers, who'd been following them ever since they got back on the freeway, and Colby realized that using his keycard to get the gate of the FBI garage to go up was probably a big clue that they were legit.

Before he could say anything, the elevator doors slid open and Don stepped out, his black shirt making his pale face stand out against the darkness of the garage. "Hey, you guys all right?" he asked.

"We're fine," Colby answered. "Not a scratch."

Don looked pointedly down at the bumper as he approached, where a couple of holes denoted that more than one bullet had hit at least part of its mark. One of the LAPD officers whistled, and he turned to her. "Special Agent Don Eppes," he said in that firm, I'm-in-charge voice that Colby had heard for years in the military. "Thanks for the escort, but we've got it from here."

The blonde officer started, "Agent Eppes, these two were involved in a high-speed car chase right through the heart of Los Angeles. We can't - "

"These two are my people, and we have jurisdiction. Our ballistics people are on their way down to check out the car, and we'll be taking their statements." He shrugged one shoulder as if to say, T_hat's all._

"Thanks for the escort," Colby added, keeping his expression sincere.

The blonde pressed her lips together and then whirled around. "You'll be hearing from my captain later today," she said as she stalked away.

Colby waited until she and her colleagues were inside their cars before looking at his watch and saying, "Unless he calls in the next ten minutes, today's gonna be over soon."

Don gave him a sideways look and walked around to the driver's side of the car, ignoring the police as they pulled away. "So, what happened?" he asked, squatting down next to the front tire.

"Not much more than what Megan told you on the phone on the way here," Colby replied, going over to see what he was looking at. He whistled when he saw the two jagged holes near the center of the hubcap. "Lucky neither of those hit the tire."

"Yeah," Don said, rising to his feet and continuing around to the front. He pointed at another bullet hole at the left corner of the fender and kept going. "Did you get a good look at them?"

Megan answered, "The one with the gun had a ski mask on, and I never really saw the driver. Did you?" she asked Colby

"No, I was too focused on staying on the road." He tried to remember what he'd seen in the rearview mirror that had raised his suspicions in the first place. "You know, I think the driver had one on, too. I couldn't see their faces when they were behind us, and I thought that was strange. Then when they started speeding up, I got even more suspicious."

"Did they get close enough for you to see their eyes, anything?" Don asked.

He shook his head. "Sorry, no."

Megan was squinting off into the distance. "I might have been able to, but I was too busy trying to get a shot off. I want to say the last two digits on the plate were 63, but I can't be sure."

"Could they have been Chinese?" Don asked abruptly.

Colby stared at him. "_That's_ what you think this is about?" _With everything we're already going through right now, you have to bring _that _up?_

Don's eyebrows raised. "You don't?"

"That doesn't make any sense. I wasn't even in my own car, and if they followed me to the airport, why would they wait till I had a passenger?" He paused for a moment and added, "Besides, there's no reason to think they would be after me. That's over and done with."

"Aw, come on. They probably want to know how much of your intel was legit, right?" Don replied, watching him closely.

He licked his lips and drew in a breath, keeping his eyes locked on Don's. "None of what I told Dwayne to tell them was legit, or at least none of it was unique to me," he said deliberately. "We've been over this before."

"Well, it can't be Megan." Don held out his arm, palm up, pointing towards her. "No one except a handful of people in the FBI and the DOJ knew she was on that flight tonight. Unless you want to tell me it was a case of mistaken identity and they were trying to kidnap someone else in a silver Acura."

"They weren't trying to kidnap us, they were trying to kill us," Colby snapped back.

Don shook his head. "Look at the bullet holes," he said, waving his arm at the car before dropping it to his side. "I don't need a mathematician to tell me what that pattern means."

Colby registered the sharpness in his tone at the word "mathematician," but he ignored it for the time being. He looked down at the car. One in the left front fender, two in the left front hubcap, two in the left rear bumper. "It means they were on our left side," he said, deadpan. "Which we kind of already knew."

Don rolled his eyes. "Megan?" he asked, turning towards her.

She pinched her lower lip between her thumb and forefinger. "They're all low," she finally said. "Either there was something wrong with the gun, or we happened to hit a bump every time they fired...or they weren't shooting at either of us, they were shooting at the tires."

"Yeah, but you lose a tire doing ninety, you're not just gonna coast to a stop," Colby retorted.

"No, but there's got to be a reason they aimed so low," she replied more evenly.

He thought about it for a minute. He'd only gotten a quick glimpse of the white sedan when the pickup between them backed off, but as he slammed on the brakes, he thought he could recall the muzzle of the automatic rifle aimed not at his head, as he'd expected and feared, but lower down. At the time, he'd figured they just hadn't brought it up to aim yet, but if Don was right...

A shiver went down his spine. If Don was right, his nightmare might not have ended with Mason Lancer's death. It might not be over by a long shot.

Don was rounding the back of the car, walking past Megan and coming up to him. "Look, Colby, things are tough enough around here right now, okay? Something like this is not what we need."

Colby stiffened. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "What, you think I asked them to chase me?" he asked coldly.

"No, but - " Don let out a huff of breath. "I'm gonna be honest with you. If I thought something like this was going to happen, I might have had second thoughts about having you stick around."

He opened his mouth to retort, but Megan was laying a hand on Don's upper arm. "Don, take it easy, okay? Until we know what's going on, we shouldn't be..." She removed her hand as he gave her a sharp glance. "We shouldn't be saying things we might regret later."

"_We _are just concerned about our team," he replied in a low tone. Holding up his finger and thumb a half-inch apart, he went on, "_We _came this close to having our head blown off yesterday - twice - so excuse me if _we _are a little touchy right now."

Colby had never seen Don like this, so ... well, "touchy" was actually a good word for it. He'd certainly seen his boss pissed like this. But then, he'd blocked out the memory of the excruciating hours of interrogation at the hands of his teammates that in the end had been harder to endure than Mason's threats and injections. This Don wasn't as blindingly angry as that one had been, but he was on edge in a way that Colby wasn't used to seeing, and it was disturbing.

Colby exchanged a quick glance with Megan and saw the same cautious concern on her face. "Just back off for a second, okay?" he asked, modulating his voice and trusting his boss would follow suit.

Instead, Don rounded on him and said, "Are you telling me what to do, Granger?"

"No, I'm not. Sir." He snapped his reply in the same tone of voice he would use to address a superior officer, automatically straightening his shoulders but resisting the urge to snap a salute.

Don actually flinched. Then he put both hands over his face for a moment before dragging his fingers downward, elongating his features. "Sorry, guys. It's been a long couple of days, you know? And then I've been in interrogation half the day, so it's probably gotten to me a little. I shouldn't be so..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

"Cranky?" Megan supplied.

Colby suddenly had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from breaking out in a grin.

Don glared at her, but it was the look of a put-upon older brother, not a pissed-off federal agent. "Touchy," he repeated insistently. Then he dropped his hands to his sides and looked up. "I'm sorry, Colby. I don't have any right to imply that you might have brought this on yourself." His eyes grew more serious. "And I sure as hell don't mean to say I regret having you around. Not after last night."

Colby returned the gaze, reading the truth of Don's words in his open expression, his dark eyes, and remembering the brief but emotional gratitude that he'd expressed the previous night. He wanted to hold onto the anger that had sparked within him a few minutes ago, but suddenly he was too tired, unwilling to hold any more grudges than he already did. "It's all right," he finally said, extending a hand.

They shook hands, and Don leaned forward and clapped him on the shoulder. "Come on, the ballistics guys are gonna need to take a look at the car, and then we need you," he reached over to touch Megan's shoulder as well, "to tell us what we're up against."

"What do you mean?" she asked, her brow furrowing.

Don's expression turned slightly sheepish. "I forgot to mention that we identified the dead driver. Liz verified it just before you guys got here. We'll explain it all upstairs."

He turned to lead the way towards the elevators, and Colby exchanged a glance with Megan. _Keep an eye on him_, they told each other silently, and then followed him out of the garage and up to the bullpen.

oooooooooooooooo

The elevator dinged as the doors opened, and David watched from the war room as the three teammates stepped out, each looking exhausted but intact. "There they are," he said to Liz, who was tacking some photos to one of the bulletin boards.

She looked up. "Well, I can still see a thundercloud over Don's head, although it does look smaller than it did a few minutes ago."

He quirked up the corner of his mouth. "Downgraded from hail and damaging winds?"

"Yeah, now it's just a torrential downpour," Liz replied, matching his smile.

After their disastrous evening yesterday, they'd been integrated with the rest of the office working on the Salvadorean case after it had merged with the trucking case, and Don had fought to keep himself near the top of the chain of command. David didn't doubt the man's ability to handle it, but on top of the lack of sleep and the terrifying experience he'd been through, he might not be in the best shape to be in charge. Not that David would ever say that if asked by anyone outside their team, but it meant he was keeping an eye on their boss in a way he didn't usually do.

Don's level of strain had been visibly increasing throughout the day, from his arrival with bloodshot eyes only six hours after leaving with Liz to a phone interview with the chairman of Lytle Trucking, who swore up and down he had no idea there were RPGs in the containers on his hijacked trucks, to the silent woman in custody whom Liz had overheard Simeon say was key to his operation. Then Megan phoned in to tell them about the bullet-dodging she and Colby had been engaged in on the 110, and Don nearly blew his top after hanging up with them. Now David watched them all carefully as they approached, but none looked worse for the wear.

The glass door swung open, and the three agents stepped in. "You guys all right?" Liz asked, jabbing the remaining push-pins in her hand into the cork and stepping towards them.

"We're fine, thanks to some fancy driving," Megan answered, nudging Colby with an elbow. "So, did I miss anything while I was gone?" she asked brightly.

Liz let out a snort. Next to Megan, Colby was starting to smirk, and David found himself matching the expression out of habit. Then their eyes met, and he looked away, his face falling. "Glad you're both okay," he said quickly.

"So, what have you got?" Don planted himself on top of one of the tables and looked at him expectantly.

_Guess it's back to business_, David thought. "Okay, here's our guy." He pointed at the image on the screen behind him. "Joseph Beachy, last known address Palisades Beach Road in Santa Monica, age 43."

"That's an alias, right?" Megan asked.

"No, that's his real name." David saw her disbelieving expression and shrugged. "But he is - or was - more commonly known as the Broker."

"He made a living arranging deals between parties that normally wouldn't have anything to do with each other, mostly within Southern California, and taking a percentage from each side." Liz explained. "Like a Mexican gang and an embezzling Orange County CEO, or a group of human traffickers and an old-fashioned protection racket."

"Or a Salvadorean gang and someone who has a need for rocket-powered grenades," Don muttered.

"Right." David took over again. "So he knew a lot about the L.A. underworld in all its various forms, and although he was never arrested, he'd been on a lot of agencies' watch lists for quite a while." He tapped a key on the laptop before him, and the screen changed to a set of four photos, each blurry blown-up images of what looked like security camera footage, each showing a man about the same height and weight as Beachy, each in a different setting and with a different group of people. He'd already identified one group as the East Side Longos from Long Beach, and Liz had noted a passing resemblance to one of the Albanian organized crime families she'd investigated before coming to L.A.

"So what was he doing hanging around with Hector Simeon?" Colby asked. "I get that he was brokering some kind of deal for him, but wouldn't he be doing that from afar?"

"Beachy was a hands-on kind of guy," Liz answered. "He called it his brand of customer service. We think he was there last night to make sure all of the transfers went smoothly, because of the complexity of the situation."

"There's not much that's complex about moving crates from one location to another," Megan said, confusion apparent in her tone.

"The crates weren't the only thing Simeon wanted to transfer," Liz reminded her quietly.

They all looked at her for a moment. David cleared his throat to break the awkward silence. "The thing is, they knew we were coming. They were prepared to have FBI agents in the middle of their operation last night. What don't know is how they knew."

Megan blinked. "That part wasn't in your statements. Any of you," she said, sweeping her arm around to indicate everyone else in the room.

"I would have been the only one to say it, but I'm sure I mentioned it in mine." Liz frowned. "I'm pretty sure."

"Okay, so what else don't I know?" Megan asked, folding her arms in front of her chest.

"A whole lot of things, like the rest of us." Don cut in, ticking off points on his fingers. "Who they got the RPGs from. Where the weapons are now. What Simeon's men are planning on doing with them. Why they wanted Liz and why they let her go. The name of the woman who's been sitting in interrogation all day and why she hasn't said a word since we got her here."

"Well, we _do _know Beachy's address," David said. Someone had to look on the bright side here. "We have a request in for a warrant, and as soon as it comes through, we're on our way." He didn't give any indication who that "we" would be, although in the interest of fence-mending, he was hoping it would be his old partner.

Megan shot a glance at him, then at Colby, and he could almost see the wheels turning in her head. "Okay, do we know why he's dead?" she asked, jerking her chin towards the pictures of Beachy.

"Liz and I were talking that over." David ran a hand over his head and looked at the junior agent. She nodded, and he went on, "We think that maybe Simeon found out at some point later last night her connection to Tabakian. He saw her driver's license, he knew her name, but he didn't tell Simeon. When Simeon found out that Beachy let her go..." He trailed off, not thinking it necessary to complete the sentence.

"He got pissed off and took it out on the Broker," Liz completed, her voice betraying nothing of the unease she must be feeling at the amount of rage that implied on Simeon's part.

"But Beachy wouldn't have known that you meant anything to Simeon," Don said to her. "Would he?"

"He had a lot of connections," David reminded him, "so it's hard to see that he wouldn't. But then it's hard to see why he would have let her go at all." He shot Liz an apologetic glance and went on, "Particularly if she was another part of the deal, or another deal altogether."

Megan was chewing on a thumbnail. "Liz, all I've seen is a fax of the typed-up statement that you gave. I think I need to watch the recording of your debriefing. All of you, actually," she said. "That's easier than asking you to repeat what you said."

David glanced at Liz, who was looking at Don, who fixed Megan with a hard look as he said, "That's not what I had in mind when I pulled strings to get you back here."

She let out a huff of breath. "Don, all we know about this guy is what Liz heard him and Simeon say. Even if she wanted to go through all of the details again, the statement she gave last night is going to be a more accurate representation of what actually happened than if she says it all again now. The same goes for all of you." David could hear a note of frustration in her voice. "I have to know everything that happened last night."

Don looked at her for another moment before nodding. "All right, go find Agent Pennington. She can get you started." Megan nodded and left the war room.

The four of them were silent for a moment. Then Don said, "Any word on the car?"

David shook his head. Liz's detailed description down to the license plate had been out on the airwaves for the last day, but none of the tips they'd received had panned out. "They've probably got it holed up in a garage somewhere."

"And the vehicles we saw?"

"Same story." The vans and trucks probably had had their license plates swapped out by now, or were probably on their way to the scrap heap after being observed by four federal agents.

"Damn." Don rubbed his hand over his jaw. "Liz, anything on the woman in interrogation?"

"You'd have to ask Theresa, but I don't think she's suddenly decided to tell us her name after keeping quiet all day. The other suspects they got last night have all been talking, but they're all low-level types who don't know a whole lot anyway."

"Do they know her name?"

"If they do, they're not saying it."

Don suddenly turned and looked around the bullpen, empty but for a janitor. "Why are we the only ones here?" he asked. "I thought this was the biggest sting in months, and when it goes south, everyone just goes home for the day?"

David exchanged a glance with Colby, who met it for a moment before looking away. "It is after midnight," he said cautiously.

"You wanna go home, feel free." Don waved a hand at him. "But there's an awful lot of work to be done here."

"And some of us need a fresh outlook to be able to do it." Liz walked over and laid an arm across his shoulders. "I'm taking you home, Eppes. You need some rest. God knows you didn't get any last night."

"Look who's talking," Don muttered, turning his head towards her.

The look that he gave her said that there was no innuendo in their words, just concern for each other's well-being. Two days ago, David knew, they wouldn't have displayed such intimacy in front of their teammates. But after what had happened yesterday, neither he nor Colby would object, or begrudge them any opportunity to do what they needed to for each other. "She's right," he said, keeping his tone light. "Why don't you go and catch some rest. We'll hold down the fort."

The look Don gave him said he wanted to object, but he was too tired to do it. Emotional more than physical exhaustion, David thought. The way the older man's shoulders were bowed said that he might have taken on too much this time, although there was no way he would ever admit it.

At Liz's urging, Don slid off the desk and made his way to the door, her arm slung around his back. When they got to the door, she cast a quick glance at the two of them before pushing the door open and heading out.

There was silence for a few seconds. David cleared his throat. "Think they'll be all right?"

"Yeah, Liz is one tough lady." Colby watched the two figures retreating towards the elevator. "And Don, well. You know."

The corner of his mouth turned up slightly. "Yeah, I know."

There was a pause. Colby looked up at the screen, four images of a dead man looking back at him. "So if things were different, I think we would be watching Charlie carry out some kind of analysis on the last known associates of Mr. Joseph Beachy to figure out who the RPGs were going to."

"Right." Don hadn't mentioned his brother's name all evening, ever since the last phone call to his father made it clear that Charlie was not getting involved at the moment. "You think we're gonna be able to do that at some point?"

"Charlie's tougher than he looks. He'll come back around."

"I hope so. We sure could use him."

Silence fell. David tried to think of something else to say about the case, but there were too many things swirling around in his head to grasp just one. Instead, he blurted out what he'd been wanting to ask ever since his former partner entered the room. "So, who do you think those guys were after? You or Megan?"

Colby looked back at him, eyes as grey and flat as his tone of voice. "Don thinks it was the Chinese."

Neither of them had said that word, had said anything related to that word, since Colby's release from the hospital two months ago. And while avoiding the subject as part of pretending it hadn't happened might have been working, slowly, to get them back on the same page, that kind of time was a luxury their team didn't have at the moment.

So David rolled his eyes and said, "I know what Don thinks; I was here when he got your phone call. I want to know what you think, man. You're - " He paused to carefully choose his words. "You're the only one of us who's qualified to judge whether or not it might be them. The Chinese," he added unnecessarily, not because he didn't think Colby knew who he was talking about, but because he wanted to say the word, get it out on the table, show that he wasn't afraid of it. "So we gotta be able to respect your opinion on it."

Colby looked at him for a long moment, and David looked back openly, unflinchingly. He thought he saw something loosen, some small part of the guardedness that his former partner had been carrying around for months slip away. Finally Colby sighed and said quietly, "I don't know, David. I really don't know."

He could see in the other man's expression that he didn't know for sure, but that he was afraid Don might be right. And someone who didn't know Colby Granger as well as David did - and he understood that he did know the man, had always known him - wouldn't have seen the flash of genuine fear that accompanied his words. He gave him a tight smile. "In that case, d'you think Megan would be offended if I said that I hoped it was her they were after?"

A tired smile graced Colby's face. "I think she'd understand," he said quietly, a little more of the guardedness leaving his expression.

The beeping of the fax machine interrupted, and David stepped over to pull the paper off the roll. "Hey, here's our warrant for Beachy's condo."

"At 12:30 in the morning?" Colby asked through a yawn.

David gave him a half-smile. "Throw in a mention of possible terrorist connections, and it's a lot easier to find a judge who's willing to disturb his beauty sleep to get us this," he said, holding up the paper.

Colby sighed. "All I can say is you're driving, because I've had enough of being behind the wheel for one night."

"Actually, I think I'm driving."

They both turned to look at the petite brown-haired woman standing in the doorway. "Theresa Pennington," she said, coming forward and extending a hand to David. "Agent Granger and I have already met."

"Pleasure to meet you," he said, receiving a firm handshake in return. "Didn't I see you here last night?"

"More like this morning, but yeah, I was the one taking Agent Granger and Warner's statements."

"And you're here past midnight again?" he asked.

"What can I say, I like the night," she replied with an easy smile. "Agent Eppes mentioned this afternoon that you guys could use a little help on your investigation, and since I'm between teams at the moment..." She shrugged her slender shoulders. "I talked with Agent Reeves just now. I understand you had a little excitement on your way here this evening?" she addressed Colby.

"You could say that," he responded laconically.

Theresa smiled. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, I've been trained in defensive driving by the Secret Service. So if they come after you again tonight, you're safe with me."

David had to work to keep back a smile at the thought of this woman, who must be five-foot-three if she was an inch, protecting six-foot Colby. But thanks to his interactions with Liz and Megan and Terry over the years, David was all too well aware that size didn't mean everything, and that women in the FBI were just as tough, if not more so, than their male counterparts. So he kept his expression neutral and looked at Colby out of the corner of his eye to make sure he was doing the same.

The glimmer he saw in his partner's eye made David's lips twitch again. _Nope, don't think he's going to mind having her driving him around_, he thought. "Here," he said, waving the warrant at them. "Good luck." _And don't let that pretty face distract you_, he thought but didn't say out loud.

He didn't want to get on the bad side of either one of them.


	9. Dancing in the Dark

oooooooooooooooo

Chapter 3: Dancing in the Dark

Charlie: Don't assume I'm being so irrational, just because I'm not as detached as you are.  
Don: Hey, hold it. Look, you've got no idea the daily horrors my job serves up to me. Detached, yeah, you're right I'm detached, that's how I function.  
-"Structural Corruption"

"Hey, sleepyhead, we're here."

Don jerked upright in the passenger seat and muttered, "I wasn't asleep."

Next to him, Liz gave a chuckle as she turned off the car. "Okay, well in that case, you can stop resting your eyes now."

He shot her a mock glare. "That sounds like insubordination to me, Agent Warner."

She reached out and patted his cheek. "We're off the clock, you know."

"Yeah, I know." He stretched out his arms and yawned. That was one of the rules they had established early on: their work relationship wouldn't be part of their personal interactions, and vice versa. No PDA in the office or in the field, but also no reminders of their relative positions in the FBI hierarchy while they were somewhere else. He'd broken that rule big time when he'd asked her to tell him how Colby was doing back on the team, and she'd been right to smack him down for it. He'd been trying harder since then to keep home and work from getting in the way of each other, but so many of his defenses had been worn away in the last day and night that he was surprised he was functioning at all, much less following the protocols they'd agreed on. "Sorry."

"No problem. Special circumstances and all," she said, echoing his words from the night before.

"Yeah," he agreed, opening the door. They left the Suburban and climbed the steps to his apartment hand-in-hand, Liz digging the key out of her pocket with her left hand so that neither of them had to let go. Inside, once he pushed the door shut behind them, they simply stood there for a long moment, arms around each other, enjoying the closeness that they'd had to forego all day.

Don soon found himself completely torn between two different desires. On the one hand, he was about to fall asleep standing up. On the other hand, Liz's body close to his reminded him that when they arrived at his place early this morning, they'd tumbled into bed and passed out without doing anything more than holding each other. And part of him still wanted very much to block out the events of the previous night - the part of him that started slowly stroking gentle circles on her back, that tilted his head to the side and started nuzzling at her neck.

Liz arched her head back, which he took as a sign of encouragement, and he pressed his lips to her neck and started tracing a line up to her ear. But a moment later, she briefly tightened her arms around him and then pulled away.

He reached out and touched the side of her face, tucking her hair behind her ear. "What's wrong?" he asked softly.

She shook her head. "Nothing's wrong, I'm just tired," she said, pressing a kiss to his palm before stepping back.

He let his hand fall to his side and swallowed back his disappointment. "All right," he said. In other circumstances he would have pressed it, would have stepped forward and taken her in his arms and persuaded her to follow his lead and follow him to bed. But he wasn't about to pressure her in light of the threats Simeon had made - in her own bedroom, no less - and so he took a step back and let her go.

She gave him a smile that said she appreciated his understanding. "It's just that I haven't been by myself since you and David showed up last night, and I need a moment alone, you know?"

"Yeah, sure," he replied. "I understand." _But what if what I need is you?_

Liz trailed her fingers down his cheek before turning away. "I'm gonna take a shower," she said, retreating towards the bathroom.

Don knew better than to ask if she wanted any company, so he turned towards the kitchen counter, rifling through the growing pile of mail to see if there were any bills that needed paying in the next couple of days. He couldn't muster up the energy to sort out the junk mail and toss it, so he left the pile where it was and slouched into the living room, where he dropped onto the sofa and reached for the remote.

Fifteen minutes of fruitless channel surfing later, he hit the mute button and leaned his head back against the top of the sofa, staring up at the ceiling. His mind felt completely empty, utterly blank, and it was a wonderful feeling. So much information had been thrown at him from so many quarters in the last thirty-six hours, and he hadn't had a spare second to process it. He just needed a little sleep, a chance to catch his breath, and he could dive right back into this monster of a case. He looked at his watch. One in the morning. Yeah, a few hours of sleep and he could be back at the office by seven, when most of the other agents would be rolling in.

He heard the shower start up on the other side of the wall, and he acknowledged that Liz was probably right about them taking a few minutes away from each other. The thought lingered that if he had his way, he'd be taking her off somewhere safe and guarding her until Simeon and his fellow creeps were locked up. She had to be shaken up after what she'd gone through, but she sure wasn't showing it.

Then again, part of the reason he was so tired was the energy it was taking to block out the corner of his mind that kept wanting to relive the terror of staring down the barrel of a cocked gun. Even if his time spent with Dr. Bradford had made him aware that talking about what he felt had its plus side, he didn't have time to deal with that now. There were far more important things to deal with, like the threat to Liz.

And the threat to Colby. Don rubbed his hand over his eyes. Why did this have to happen now? Hell, why did it have to happen at all? Colby had been through enough, was still going through enough. Don thought guiltily of his accusatory tone earlier that evening and sighed. The man had done an incredible job in a difficult situation, and he wouldn't have blamed him at all if he took the DC job and never looked back. But he was glad to have such a good agent on his team, and he had faith that the rough patches would get smoothed over eventually. Despite the fear and helplessness that last night had engendered, at least it had shown him that when it came down to it, he had good people watching his back, and he didn't want to lose any of them.

The flickering of the television distracted him from his thoughts, and he abruptly switched it off. He rubbed his eyes again and slowly rose, making his way to the bedroom. Once there, he went through the automatic ritual of removing the necessary paraphernalia of his job - the weapon, the restraints, the phone - and laid them on the nightstand. Liz's set of the same items was on the other night table, and he paused for a moment at how domestic the scene looked. Then he shook his head with a rueful grin. _Matching guns and handcuffs - you're such a romantic, Eppes_.

The water was still running in the shower, so he stripped off his shirt and jeans and left them in a heap on the floor. He'd shower in the morning - he'd need it to wake him up, he was sure. He crawled into bed but left the bedside lamp on for Liz when she came out. Then he put his head down on the pillow and closed his eyes.

It took about five exhalations for him to fall asleep.

The dip in the mattress from Liz's weight on the edge of the bed brought him out of unconsciousness. He murmured a sleepy protest, and she turned to him with a "Shh, go back to sleep." But instead he watched through half-closed eyes as she combed out the long waterfall of her hair. He loved that hair, loved to run his fingers through it, loved it falling like a curtain around them when she was above him. It made her look like a completely different person when it was down, falling to her waist instead of neatly pinned up like she always wore it at work. The phrase "letting your hair down" had special meaning for him now, for it was when he saw her like this that he was reminded of how lucky he was to be the one who got to be so close to her, to have her in his life.

He bit back the thought of how suddenly that could all be taken away.

After a few more minutes, Liz laid down the comb and turned out the light, sliding underneath the covers. He was suddenly aware of how near she was, feeling the slight heat from her body radiating towards him, but he closed his eyes and tried to reach for the sleep that had claimed him so quickly before.

There was silence for a few minutes. Then Liz said, "Don?" so softly he almost didn't hear it. She reached out and laid a tentative hand on his thigh, and that was all it took for desire to flare within him like a lit match.

He swiftly rolled over and covered her body with his, seeking out her mouth with his and arching into her as she trailed her hands down his back. And then he was completely lost in touching her and kissing her and relishing her hands and lips warm on his body, any remaining tiredness suddenly swept away in that burning need to feel close to her, to feel her skin against his...the need simply to _feel_.

And if once or twice their movements were a little too frantic, almost out-of-control, he chalked it up to lingering fear from the events of the night before. And if once it was all over, she rolled away from him and promptly fell asleep, he told himself that they were both exhausted, and that he'd have something to tease her about in the morning. So he curled up behind her and threw an arm over her waist, breathing in the sweet scent of her damp hair and falling into a peaceful sleep.

oooooooooooooooo

At about the same time, a black Suburban was pulling up to a beachfront condo in Santa Monica. Colby whistled as he got out of the vehicle. "Nice place," he said.

Downtown Santa Monica overlooked the sandy beach and the Pacific Coast Highway along the water's edge. A few lucky souls had property immediately behind the beach, a collection of pastel beach houses and Spanish stucco that made a great postcard picture by daylight. The address they were headed for was on the edge of a row of houses equipped with full-story windows, patios, and balconies taking full advantage of the literal oceanfront views. Here in the dead of night, the low marine layer of clouds meant the only view was thick grey mist, obscuring the waves that were audible on the other side of the expanse of sand.

"Guess making deals with every lowlife in town pays well," Theresa Pennington replied, slamming the driver's door shut.

"Makes you wonder what his neighbors do for a living," he said, walking around the front of the SUV and following her up the flagstone steps through the tiny, neatly manicured front yard.

"Probably Hollywood types," she said. "That's what we would assume back home."

"Where's that?" he asked as they came up to the front door.

"Michigan." She cast a sideways look at him. "You a local? You look like you could be the surfer type."

The corner of his mouth turned up. "Nope. Not a whole lot of waves to catch in Idaho."

"Ah, a mountain man." She pressed the doorbell and knocked sharply on the sculpted metal door. They listened for at least thirty seconds but heard nothing. Theresa rapped on the door again, and they waited once more to no avail. She pulled a set of keys out of her pocket. "These were on Beachy's person when they found him; one of them has to get us in."

Colby turned around and looked out over the empty stretch of sand, picturing it full of sunbathers and swimmers during the day. L.A. was probably too crowded for some folks, but not him. He understood the attraction of this place. There was so much energy, so much life - a colorful collection of people and places, but loosely knit; things weren't all crammed together like DC or New York. There was room to breathe out here. Personal and professional relationships aside, he'd been glad to get the opportunity to stay.

There was a click behind him, and he turned to see the front door swing open. "We're in," Pennington said quietly, putting the keys back in her pocket and drawing her weapon. She slipped inside before Colby could argue that he should be taking the lead.

The house was all sleek lines and modern style, a combination of glass and steel and metal that looked more like a Soho loft than a Santa Monica beach house. Most of the downstairs was visible from where they stood, and the stairway and upstairs hallway were open to their view as well. Colby tapped Pennington on the shoulder and indicated that he'd take the upstairs. She nodded and started moving across the living room.

He climbed the stairs silently, the treads consisting of some kind of transparent slabs that were somewhat unnerving when he looked down. The two bedrooms and bathrooms were empty of life, the indicators of a single man's household spread out over the bathroom counter and the dresser top. The toiletries were much more expensive than the stuff in Colby's apartment, and the clothing in the closet was definitely several cuts nicer, but it had the same bachelor feeling as his own abode.

He went back to the top of the staircase. "Clear," he called down.

"Clear," Theresa's voice came back up, and he holstered his weapon.

"Anything interesting?" he asked.

"He ate a lot of takeout," she replied. He could see the light from the inside of the refrigerator spilling out over the gleaming white floor.

"Sounds familiar," he muttered under his breath, then added in a louder tone, "I'll look around up here."

He poked through the guest bedroom and bathroom, both of which were immaculately clean and sparsely equipped. Beachy obviously didn't have many guests, which wasn't surprising considering his line of work. Colby rifled through the nightstand and desk drawers, all of which were empty. Nothing was under the bed but a collection of dust bunnies that would rival his own, and nothing was in the closet but a couple of suit jackets still in their dry cleaning plastic with a date from two weeks ago on the paper tag.

Walking back down the hallway, he heard drawers slamming downstairs. His temporary partner was obviously giving the kitchen a thorough search. He listened for a moment; she muttered something, although he couldn't make out the words. The corner of his mouth turned up. It was nice for once to be able to focus on the job at hand and not worry about what the other person in the room thought of him. On the other hand, it was also a nice change of pace to think freely - and well - of his second. He shook his head to clear it as he pushed open the door to the master bedroom.

This room was obviously used more, although everything was still neat and organized. He took note of that to tell Megan later for her analysis of the dead man. The roll-top desk had papers arranged in a series of cubbyholes, and as he sifted through them, he noticed a few addresses that sounded familiar. There were no names of people listed, or dates, which he knew he was naive to hope for. He opened all of the desk drawers, hoping to find something like a datebook or weekly planner, but all he found were office supplies and back copies of The Economist.

Eventually Colby straightened up and put a hand to his lower back. He looked at his watch and was surprised to find that half an hour had passed. Cocking an ear towards the door, he heard the faint sounds of Pennington rummaging around downstairs. Going back out to the hallway, he cast an eye towards the walk-in closet, between the master bath and the door to the hallway. The closet was going to have to come next.

He stopped in the doorway and furrowed his brow. There was something strange, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He looked back and forth between the doorways to the bedroom, the closet, and the bathroom. Finally he pitched his voice towards the stairway and called, "Hey, Pennington, c'mere."

In a few seconds, he heard her footsteps pounding up the stairs. She burst into the room a second later, one hand resting on the butt of her gun. Colby raised an eyebrow at her. "If I was in trouble, I would have said, 'Help,' you know."

Theresa looked him up and down, her eyes lingering over his biceps and the olive green shirt that had shrunk in last week's wash and was now stretched a little too tightly across his chest. "With some agents, you can't count on that."

He folded his arms over his chest. "And what agents would those be?"

"The macho ones," she said straightforwardly.

Colby snorted, thinking of those dark moments on the Chinese freighter when he would have given anything to be able to call for help. Or the earlier desperate phone call to Don that had been a complete leap of faith but had saved his ass in the end. "Trust me, I'm not that type."

Her eyes slid across his arms again before rising to meet his. "I'll take your word for it," she said blandly, her tone of voice indicating that she thought otherwise.

He almost smiled. It was definitely good to be working with someone who didn't treat him like a strange combination of pariah and hero, like the majority of the office. His team seemed to be okay with him but other voices lowered when he passed by, and he hated that. He'd almost learned to ignore the looks, which were worse than the voices, but he steadied himself in the knowledge that at least the person standing in front of him took him at face value. If there were more agents willing to do that, he figured he'd be having a lot better time of it.

"What you see isn't always what you get, you know," he replied, his voice suddenly going serious.

She met his gaze, and then her eyes twinkled. "That's a shame, 'cause I kind of like what I see."

Colby blinked. "I'll keep that in mind," he said slowly. He might have been a little out of touch from his last two years of enforced singlehood, but he was pretty sure he knew flirting when he saw it. What surprised him was that he wasn't quite sure how to respond. He settled for saying, "Actually, that's why I asked you up here."

Her fine eyebrows raised. "Excuse me?"

He held back a grin. "Take a look," he said, gesturing at the doorways behind her. "Doesn't something seem a little off?"

Theresa eyed him warily, but turned halfway and examined the scene. He saw confusion play across her face, which quickly morphed into a questioning expression. She poked her head into the closet and then walked around to the hallway. "They don't line up," she said.

"Exactly," he replied. The walk-in closet wasn't as deep as the bathroom on the left or the hallway on the right.

"The heating ducts are on the other side of the unit," she mused, walking back and forth, "and there's no notch on the outside of the building that would correspond to it." She stopped and shrugged. "Might just be empty space."

"Do we know how long Beachy lived here?"

She frowned, her eyebrows drawing together. "No, but judging from the style, it can't be more than five or six years old. He could have been the original owner, I guess."

"Which means he could have had some special built-ins installed."

"Like a secret room?" Pennington looked at him sideways. "You read spy novels in your spare time or something?"

He stiffened involuntarily before he realized she had meant the question innocently. "Something like that," he responded, brushing past her and going into the closet.

He knew what he was looking for, and it was only a matter of minutes before he found it: the slightly discolored spot where a shelf met the back wall, the white paint tinged with grey from the traces of oil on the skin of the person who had repeatedly pressed that spot, just like so...

A panel clicked open, and he pushed it aside to reveal a room about three feet by two feet, containing a table piled high with stacks of paper and a bookshelf filled with small, unevenly stacked boxes. _Megan would have something to say about this guy's subconscious_, he thought as he stepped inside. The first box he opened contained a Walther P88, the wooden grip and metal-blue barrel gleaming like it had been recently polished. The second one contained a wicked-looking combat knife that was all too familiar to Colby - he'd carried one like it through Afghanistan.

Behind him, Theresa had entered the secret room and was standing nearly back-to-back with him in the small space. "You're good," she said. He heard her picking up a pile of papers and shuffling through them.

"Chalk it up to experience," he muttered. He turned around and peered over her shoulder - over the top of her head, more accurately, considering he had about eight inches of height on her. He reached around her and grabbed another stack of papers. She started and turned her head, then stepped sideways and back out of the small space. "Sorry," he said, looking up.

"Just a little claustrophobia." She smiled nervously and kept going, out of the walk-in closet and back to the bedroom.

Colby looked after her for a moment, then returned his attention to the papers. They all contained series of handwritten strings of numbers and letters, page after page of them, some with a handful of lines, some with dozens. _Charlie'll know what to do with this_, he thought, then frowned. _ If we can get him back in the office, that is._

Flipping through the remaining pages, he found nothing comprehensible. Then he heard Theresa say, "Hey, Granger, take a look at this."

He made his way out of the closet and over to where she was seated on the bed, the papers spread out around her. She pointed at the two closest to her. "The last numbers in the top row."

Picking up the paper, he read aloud, "Nine two three three four."

She held out a second piece of paper. "And nine one four nine six."

He took the page from her and studied it next to the first one. In each case, the first row had two strings of six numbers, followed by six letters and five numbers. He squinted at them as if that would reveal their meaning. "I don't - " Then something struck him, and he shook the first piece of paper she'd given him. "The first six numbers are yesterday's date, year-month-day."

She nodded and reached up to tap the second sheet with a chewed-on fingernail. "And this one is from last Friday."

"So this is like his datebook?"

"Could be." She eyed him for a moment. "You don't get the rest of it, do you?"

Colby shook his head. "You do?"

"Zip codes. The one with yesterday's date is Fontana, where you and your team were last night. And the one with Friday's date is where the rest of us were last night."

He dropped the pages and stared at her. "You're serious?"

She nodded grimly. "There was something going down in the Valley, all right. It just happened three days before we got there."

He looked out at the dozens of pages spread over the bed, then over his shoulder at the stacks of paper still in the hidden room. "This is Beachy's entire network laid out for us."

"And all we have to do is read it," Theresa replied dryly. "Piece of cake."

"It will be if we can get a hold of the right person," he said over his shoulder as he strode back into the tiny office to scoop up the remaining stacks of paper, trying to decide whether to bother his exhausted boss with this or to wait until morning. Another thought entered his mind, and he grimaced.

_Charlie, don't you let us down._


	10. Reason to Believe

oooooooooooooooo

Chapter 4: Reason to Believe

Alan: You just remember how Charlie is. Can't seem to quit a problem. He's still working on the same one he's had since grade school.  
Don: And what's that?  
Alan: Trying to impress his big brother.  
-"Sabotage"

Don turned his key in the lock and opened the door. Inside, he smelled coffee and pancakes, and a small smile crept onto his face. _ How'd you know I was coming, Dad?_

As if he'd been called, Alan appeared in the kitchen doorway, wielding a spatula. "Donnie, now you're not just picking up ribeye on that radar of yours, but pancakes, too?"

"Hey, Dad." He shut the door behind him. "Charlie up yet?"

"Not a peep. From him or from Amita," Alan said with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, yeah? That a regular thing?" He'd known that his brother was getting more serious with his former advisee - watching the two of them when he and Liz were around was proof of that - but he hadn't known she was staying over on a regular basis. Given that it was Wednesday morning, this clearly wasn't a date that had expanded into something more, but a planned event.

"Pretty much," his father replied. He waved the spatula and said, "I must say, it is nice to have someone around who appreciates your mother's pancake recipe."

"Hey, I appreciate it," Don replied, putting on a tone of mock injury as he headed towards the stairway. "Keep 'em warm for me, will ya?"

He climbed the stairs and knocked on his little brother's door, juggling the stack of file folders tucked under his arm. "Charlie, you in there?" he called out.

There was a soft yelp followed by a female giggle. Don rolled his eyes. "Charlie?"

There was a pause. Then, "What do you want?" came the exasperated reply.

"I want to talk to you."

He heard through the door, "I have class in an hour and meetings the rest of the day."

"Charlie, you never have meetings." He looked down at the hardwood floor, his eyes catching on the gouge in the wood he'd made with a Matchbox car when he was five years old. Charlie never made any scratches in the floor like that. But scribbling on the walls was another story, he thought, remembering the time Mom and Dad had simply given up and repainted the hallway rather than try to clean off all of the childishly-scrawled equations six-year-old Charlie had proudly displayed to them.

There was a low exchange of voices. Amita's voice called out, "What do you need help with, Don?"

He hefted the file folders in his hand and thought about opening the door. Nah, as much potential as it had to embarrass Charlie, he might see some things he really didn't want to. And he needed his brother's help, so ticking him off was not the best strategy at the moment. "We've got a code that we need cracked. Dates, locations, and what we assume are the names of people or groups. It could be key to taking down some of the biggest crime organizations in L.A."

"And there's no one at the FBI that can do it?" came Charlie's voice.

He stared at the door, eyes tracing the grain of the wood. _God, why does everything have to be so difficult all at once?_ "Not as fast as you can. And speed is of the essence." He was still peeved at Colby for waiting till the sun rose to give him a call with the news of what he'd found at Beachy's house, although having four full hours of sleep was probably much better than none at all.

"Then I'm not your man," came the curt reply. "Speed is what got me in trouble the last time. You're better off finding a consultant who doesn't make stupid mistakes that put people's lives in danger."

He laid a hand against the door, knowing this would be so much easier if he could see his brother's face. "Charlie, it's not your fault. Any of it."

"Why were you guys on your own out there in Fontana?" Without waiting for a reply, Charlie rushed on, "Because I told them to divert all of their resources to the Valley, because that's where I told them Hector Simeon would be. Because I screwed up. And you almost lost your life because of it. Liz was kidnapped because of it. I - I can't risk that again."

Don drew in a deep breath. "Charlie, there's way too much that went on the other night for it to all be on your shoulders. The Assistant Director made the decision to send us to Fontana by ourselves, not you. There was no way we could have known everything that was going to happen. And besides, it appears that one of the people they did catch because of your analysis is pretty important to the organization."

"How so?" It was Amita asking the question.

"Well, Simeon blew a gasket when he found out we had her, so she must mean something." He looked down at the folders in his hand. "If we knew what this code meant, maybe we could figure out exactly what."

He heard a snort from the other side of the door and a muttered, "Real subtle."

His hand turned into a fist and pounded once on the door. "Damn it, Charlie, it doesn't matter whether you're hiding or not, we still need to do the work. We've got dozens of RPGs out there, a creep who wants nothing more than to get his hands on Liz again, and the Chinese trying to catch up with Colby. We still need - "

"You what? What about Colby?"

_That's what gets through to him?_ "He and Megan were shot at on the 110 last night coming back from the airport. No one outside the office knew she was coming back, so it had to be someone following him."

There was a pause. Then Amita said, "We'll be out in a minute. Can you wait for us downstairs?"

"Yeah, sure," Don replied, suppressing a sigh. He made his way down the steps and plunked himself at the table. The table was set for four, but he would be surprised if anyone other than his father ended up eating here. He hoped Amita was talking some sense into Charlie; if not, he was liable to start yelling at his younger brother and make it a really great start to the day. It was true, there were other people they could call on to figure out what Beachy's records meant. But considering that a handful of the pages he was holding held dates that were still to come, either this week or farther in the future, they needed to know as soon as possible what they meant. And no one could be faster at it than his genius brother.

Don leaned his elbows on the table and rested his face in his hands. Liz had woken up before him and insisted on being dropped off at the office before he headed up to see Charlie. He hadn't wanted to leave her side, although he knew it was silly to worry about her at the FBI office. She'd been a little distant all morning, even napping in the car on the drive in. He wondered if he should talk to Megan, see what she thought of Liz talking to someone like Bradford. She'd been through a lot and it wasn't good for her to keep it inside.  
_  
Like you should talk_, argued a voice in his head, but he shushed it.

The kitchen door swung open and Alan appeared with a plate of pancakes in one hand and a jug of maple syrup in the other. "Well, at least there's one of you here," he said, setting down the plate. "Go to it, I know you'll probably have to run off again in a few minutes."

"No, I'm stayin' for as long as it takes," he replied, rubbing his eyes and holding back a yawn.

"Until the coffee kicks in, you mean?" Alan folded his arms over his chest. "How's Liz doing?"

"She's okay. Says she is, anyway," he muttered, lifting a pancake and dropping it on his plate.

His father's gaze turned shrewder. "You two _do _have a lot in common."

He rolled his eyes. "Dad."

Alan disappeared through the doorway again, and Don dove into the pancakes. They really were good. He hadn't planned on much in the way of breakfast today, so this was a pleasant surprise.

His pleasure lasted for about another sixty seconds, as long as it took for his cell phone to ring. Muttering an expletive that he hoped his dad hadn't heard, he flipped it open. "Eppes."

"Hey, Don, we've got something." David's voice was disgustingly cheerful, considering the early hour. "Our friends at the trucking company say they've picked up the signal on the RFID chips again."

"No kidding?" He eyed the remaining stack of pancakes and inwardly sighed. "Where are they?"

"A warehouse in Banning, halfway out to Palm Springs. The chairman of the company you talked to yesterday said he drove right past the location this morning and the signal was coming in loud and clear."

"All right, I'll swing by the office and – " He looked at his watch. Still the height of rush hour. "Scratch that, I'll meet you there." No sense in fighting the downtown traffic when he could go straight east and get a head start.

"Okay, ETA of ninety minutes and the four of us will see you there."

He opened his mouth to protest, then stopped short. Charlie had come down the stairs and was standing there looking at him. For some reason, his accusing expression brought to mind something Liz had said right after giving her statement, asking him out of nowhere if he was going to let her do her job after what had happened. He'd been on the verge just now of coming up with some excuse for her to stay at the office, like claiming that she was too much of a liability if they encountered the Salvadoreans because of their special interest in her, or that she needed to talk to a mental health specialist to verify she was fit for duty.

_Yeah, and then I'll be sleeping by myself for the next month. _

So he swallowed and said, "Right, see you there." He folded the phone shut, still looking at Charlie.

"What is it?" his brother asked.

"I gotta go," he replied, shoveling the last of the pancake into his mouth and standing up. "But I know you're too busy to hear about it, so..."

"Don." Charlie's voice was sharp. "Don't."

"Well, what do you want me to do?" He held his hands out, palms up. "The job has to get done, Charlie. I'm sorry if your ego is too wounded to help us out, but we still gotta find these weapons and the guys who stole them."

"You think I'm upset because my ego is damaged?" Charlie took a step forward, his voice rising. "I couldn't care less about that. What matters is that I made a mistake that had real, serious consequences. Your colleagues relied on my results, and my results were wrong." His voice dropped to a near-whisper. "And I think you're better off not relying on me."

"Aw, come on." Don lowered his hands to his sides. "You can't give up completely just because you found out you aren't perfect."

Charlie looked back at him, his dark brown eyes huge in his face. "I asked you once what happened if you were wrong, how you dealt with being wrong. You said, 'We can't be wrong.' That's the truth, isn't it? You _can't_ be wrong, not when your team is depending on you, not when thousands or millions of people are depending on you. And if you can't be wrong, then you obviously can't rely on me."

"I also said once that I'd put my life in your hands any day of the week." He took a few steps closer, looking intently at his brother. "That's the truth, too."

Charlie's face crumpled, and he turned away. Don saw Amita standing on the stairs behind him, her face troubled as she looked back and forth between the two of them. "Leave them," she said, gesturing to the files in his hand. "We'll take a look."

"Amita – " Charlie said in a warning tone, turning and looking up at her.

"Fine, _I'll_ take a look," she said with a little more heat in her voice. "Maybe it'll be easier for me to make my own contribution here than it is at CalSci."

Don saw Charlie's mouth tighten and hurt flash across his eyes. Then he pushed past her and up the stairs. "I've got class to prepare," he threw over his shoulder as he disappeared out of sight.

Don and Amita looked at each other for a moment. "He'll come around," he finally said, infusing a confidence into his voice that he wasn't sure he felt. Then he added with a quirk of his lips, "And if not, he's not the only mathematician in town."

She gave him a halfhearted smile in return. "I'll see what I can do," she said.

"Thanks, Amita." He hesitated for a moment. Something was going on here, something that had nothing to do with him showing up at 7 A.M. and demanding Charlie's help. He would have pushed it, but he had a warehouse to get to and some RPGs to retrieve. Besides, Amita was a smart girl. She'd figure out what to do with Charlie and crack Beachy's code before he even got to Banning. "I'll give you a call later."

She nodded, and he called a good-bye to Alan before slipping out of the house and back on the road. _No rest for the weary, _he thought as he turned the key in the ignition and backed out of the driveway. _ No rest at all_.

oooooooooooooooo

The ever-bumpier condition of the freeway pavement finally woke Liz up. She'd been dozing on the bench seat in the rear of the Suburban both because she was exhausted and to avoid talking to her two teammates. Sitting up and leaning forward, she saw that Megan was slumped against the passenger-side door, apparently taking advantage of the same opportunity for some shut-eye. From the driver's seat, David's eyes flickered to hers in the rearview mirror. "Hey," he said softly. "About another twenty minutes."

"Thanks," she murmured, yawning and stretching. When she was done, she shook her head and ordered herself to feel alert. Waking up quickly was a valuable skill to an FBI agent, one she'd had to work at over the years. It was still hard to bring to bear when she desperately needed sleep as much as she did right now.

The night of her abduction, she'd barely gotten a couple of hours of restless sleep between nightmares, and even last night, she'd only dozed briefly before giving up and simply watching Don sleep next to her. It had been a strange combination of reassuring and disquieting, listening to his soft, regular breathing and thinking of how close it had come to stopping altogether. Finally, she'd gotten up and paced around his apartment, making a list of everything she wanted to get from her place for what looked like a couple of weeks she'd be away, and waiting for daylight to come so she could get back to the office and start _doing _something.

Well, she'd certainly gotten her wish in that regard, now that they were on their way to what might well be a second confrontation with the men who had abducted her and almost killed Don. She leaned forward, forearms on her thighs, and asked David, "Any word from the scene?"

He shook his head. "Local PD is staying out of sight like we asked, which also means they don't have anything to tell us. No traffic in or out of the site, which is something."

"Yeah, I guess so." Liz rubbed her hands over her face. "I don't suppose they're likely to be hanging out there at eight in the morning, anyway."

"Probably not." She looked up in time to catch the tail end of David's glance at her in the rearview mirror. "You sure you're up for this?"

She opened her mouth to snap back a reply and was caught off guard by a yawn. So she settled for giving David a slightly sheepish grin. "If you're asking if I'm awake enough, you did say there's twenty minutes to go, right?"

He smiled back. "Yeah, that's right."

"Good." Liz looked out the windshield at the freeway interchange they were approaching, the multiple levels ramps and flyovers crossing and re-crossing in what was almost a work of art. They'd gotten off at this interchange the other night on their way up to what they had thought would be an easy retrieval of the stolen cargo. A shudder ran through her, and she shook her head. _You sure you're up for this? _she echoed David's question to herself. She paused for a moment to get her thoughts straight and then said aloud, "I'd rather be here than waiting back in the office, anyway." At another glance from David, she added quickly, "Not that my head's not in it."

"No one would blame you if it wasn't." Megan joined the conversation, her tone casual as she stretched in her seat. She turned her head to look at Liz. "No one would blame any of you guys, actually, but especially you."

She had an out if she wanted it, and she had thought once or twice about it in the last hour. The desire to get the bastards was waging strongly with her fear at facing them again, topped off with the objective, professional concern that she might not be at her best right now. "No," she said, shaking her head firmly. "We've got a job to do, and we're going to do it."

"Good to hear it," Megan said warmly. She looked into the side mirror, and Liz turned her head as well to see the second Suburban behind them, a curve in the road allowing her to see the two FBI vans behind it. To the amusement of everyone in the lead vehicle, Colby had volunteered to drive their newest ad hoc team member out to the site, muttering something about wanting to talk over what they had uncovered at Joseph Beachy's place last night. Looking more closely into the front seat, she let out a small snort. So much for Colby's unspoken hope of getting to know Theresa Pennington better. "Seems like we're not the only ones catching a nap," she said, turning back around.

"She did say she wasn't a morning person, didn't she?" Megan asked.

"I think it's still the end of the day for her." Liz paused for a moment. "Seems to me it would be like having jet lag without actually having gone anywhere."

"The way air travel is these days, she's probably better off enjoying the jet lag at home," Megan muttered.

"I take it you had a rough trip?" David asked.

"Nothing like making two transcontinental flights in two days on either side of spending ten hours a day with people who make your skin crawl." Megan fixed her with a look. "Not that either one of you heard me say that."

Liz held her hands up. "Didn't hear a thing." _Dying to ask, but keeping my mouth shut._

"And then once Don called..." Megan shook her head and looked out the windshield. "I can't tell you how much I wish I'd been here."

"Why, so you could stand there at gunpoint with the rest of us?" David's voice had a slight edge to it. "Didn't matter who was there. They were going to take what they wanted no matter what."

The two women regarded him for a moment. Then Megan said quietly, "That's not what I meant. Look, I'm responsible for you guys to a certain extent, for making sure your heads are on straight and everything's okay. I wasn't there, so I don't know exactly what happened, and it's keeping me from doing my job right now."

"Taking care of us isn't your job," Liz retorted. "We're all here to catch the bad guys, period." When Megan turned to face her, surprise on her face, she went on, "Which means it's probably best that you were gone, so that you can be more objective about things now." Which was the closest she was going to get to acknowledging that maybe she _wasn't_ one hundred percent, mentally speaking.

"If I'd been there instead of you, you wouldn't have been abducted," came the cool answer.

As much as Liz liked the other woman, she hated how sometimes she wasn't sure if Megan really meant what she was saying, or if the behaviorist was just trying to get a reaction to her words. "You can't know that. Maybe they would have grabbed me later. Besides, who's to say they wouldn't have taken you instead?"

Megan met her gaze for a few seconds, and then looked away again. She bit her lip and then said quietly, "I can't help but feel responsible. If I hadn't been called to Washington, I would have been the one out there with the team, Liz, and you wouldn't be dealing with everything that you are right now."

There was silence for a mile or so while she digested what Megan had said, David kept all of his attention on the road, and Megan fiddled with her seat belt. Finally David broke the silence. "I understand where you're coming from, all right? But you read what happened. It was a close thing, Megan. A damn close thing. And who's to say that you might not have done something another way than Liz that led to a completely different outcome." _One where Don died_, he didn't have to add.

"The butterfly effect," Liz mused.

"I s'pose Charlie would say you're applying the concept wrong, but yeah, that's it." David cleared his throat and continued to stare out the windshield. "Believe me, it doesn't help anything to spend all your time thinking about how things might have gone differently." His eyes shifted to the rearview mirror and back, and Liz was sure he wasn't just checking on the traffic.

The silence was a little more awkward that time. Then David shook his head and said, "Man, maybe one of you should be asking me if _my_ head's in the game here."

Liz frowned. Of the four of them who had been held hostage, David was the hardest for her to read. Now she was somewhat embarrassed to realize that she hadn't considered at all how he'd been affected. Don – she was worried about him in spades. Colby – she couldn't help but wonder how much more the guy could take. She was even starting to wonder about Megan a little, based on the guilt complex she'd just admitted to and her mysterious and apparently unpleasant DOJ assignment. But David – he was the most solid, the most dependable one of them, even if his equilibrium had been thrown out of whack by the whole Colby thing.

Finally Liz said, "You're too conscientious of an agent not to let us know if you weren't up for it," deliberately echoing his comment to her roughly thirty-six hours ago and a few miles back on the same freeway.

David met her gaze in the mirror and smiled, showing that he recognized her turn of phrase and appreciated it. "Thanks," he said quietly.

They passed the remaining ten minutes in relative silence, Megan checking in with Colby and Liz with Don by cell phone, making sure they were going to converge on the same place at the same time. Before she knew it, they were exiting the freeway and driving through dusty streets past the warehouse complex they were headed for, looking out through their tinted windows for any sign of life and seeing none. David continued past the front entrance and pulled off the road in about half a mile at an abandoned gas station. The second Suburban pulled in behind him, and as they got out of the SUV, the tactical vans followed.

It wasn't more then sixty seconds later before Don's vehicle pulled up as well, and Liz was surprised at the funny thump her heart gave when she saw him. She must be more nervous than she thought. She'd left him two hours ago, for goodness' sake.

"Now this is more like it," Don muttered loud enough for them to hear as he walked up. "Glad we finally rate some backup."

Liz exchanged a quick look with Megan. Neither one of them wanted to say that they had almost _been _the backup, that A.D. Wright had had to be talked into letting Don's team lead the assault. It took a well-planned and executed argument by Megan, backed up by a strong performance from Colby, whose judgment the A.D. seemed to trust more heavily than he ever had, to give them the go-ahead to take the lead.

"What've we got?" Don asked more loudly.

Liz hung back while the second team leader conferred with Don and David, sharing their updates on the situation and spreading out maps and aerial photos over the hoods of the vehicles. There weren't going to be any surprises this time in terms of power lines or miscommunication. There were going to be a dozen heavily-armed FBI agents well aware of what they might be walking into.

Still, she couldn't remember feeling so nervous before an operation since her first time in the field.

"All right, we move in five." Don was stacking up the aerials and handing them to a member of the backup team. Then he turned around and looked at her and everyone else under his command.

She could almost see the wheels turning into his head. God, every decision had become political now. If he partnered himself with her, people would talk. If he didn't, different people would talk. Then there were David and Colby, who at least were simply looking uncomfortable with each other, not as if they were barely suppressing fury. Behind them stood an apparently wide-awake Theresa Pennington, trying to conceal a hopeful look that Liz recognized from her own experience: wanting to be accepted as one of the team, no matter how much of an outsider she might feel.

She lifted her head slightly to catch Don's attention, then flicked her gaze towards Colby, Theresa, then back to him. _ Start there, and the rest will fall into place_, she thought.

Don's brow furrowed the tiniest bit, then cleared. "All right, Granger and Pennington, you two stay together and lead the team through the side door. Megan, you're with me. David and Liz, you're leading the third team around back."

Blinking to hide her pleased surprise, she looked at David and gave him a nod. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw a smile flicker across Theresa's face, but when she looked more closely, it was gone.

"All right, everybody ready?" Don called to the group at large. After a series of nods and quiet agreements, he said, "Then let's do this."


	11. Real World

oooooooooooooooo

Chapter 5: Real World

Charlie: Einstein said that one has either time for science, or family, but not both.  
Larry: Well, now that's spoken like a man who can appreciate our predicament.  
Charlie: I wonder, though, is our work the actual cause, or is it an excuse?  
Larry: That's a fair hypothesis, isn't it? I suppose the real trick is in finding the solution while it still matters.  
-"Sacrifice"

"Larry, how often do you talk with Megan?" Charlie asked as he fidgeted with the paper icosidodecahedron perched on the edge of his friend's desk.

The physicist steepled his fingers and propped his chin precariously on top of them. "In person, on the phone, or through a chat window?"

Charlie's brow briefly furrowed at the thought of Megan and Larry LOLing and BRBing with each other like a couple of college kids, while he rotated the thirty-two-sided shape in his hands. "In person, let's say."

Larry's head tilted slightly through the side as he replied, "Three times a week, approximately. Although we communicate by telephone more frequently than that."

"Has she ever accused you of not respecting her?" The question blurted out before he could come up with a more subtle way of framing it.

A raised eyebrow was his reply. "The woman carries a firearm with her at all times. Respect is not something she has to worry about, from me or anyone else."

Somehow Charlie didn't want to contemplate the thought of Amita packing heat, given the current state of their relationship.

Larry was going on, "Would this have anything to do with why a beautiful young combinatoricist was, for lack of a better term, sulking around the hallways this morning?"

"Amita was sulking?" Charlie asked quickly.

Larry waved a hand absently. "As I say, for lack of a better term. May I inquire as to whether there are difficulties in your relationship?"

Larry Fleinhardt had been a mentor in many different ways to Charlie over the years, from his teenage gawkiness on through his maturation into a professor in his own right. He'd advised him on matters of teaching, on navigating the often treacherous shoals of academic politics, and on the finer points of restoring a Victorian home. Rarely had he provided relationship expertise, but Charlie knew that in this case, his old friend was one of the few people he knew who could really understand the situation. "Not difficulties, per se," he answered while mentally crossing his fingers to negate the white lie. "It's just...Amita thinks that she's being treated unfairly because of her relationship with me."

"By whom?"

Charlie waved his arm to indicate the world outside Larry's office. "The mathematical community."

"You'll have to elaborate a bit more, I'm afraid."

He shifted in his seat. "I'm not sure how much of this is confidential."

Larry nodded. "A wise response."

Charlie rubbed his eyes for a moment, willing away a nascent headache. "Say there was this newly minted female physicist who accepted an assistant professorship at the university where she'd gotten her Ph.D. Say there were rumors that she was romantically involved with her former advisor. Would you think less of her own work, or think that her former advisor was doing the work for her?"

"Ah." Larry sat back in his chair and tapped a finger against his chin. "The Marie Curie problem."

He looked across the desk quizzically. "I'm not familiar with that one."

"Oh, it's not a mathematical problem, at least not in the conventional sense of the term. No, Marie Sklodowska was a doctoral student of Pierre Curie at the University of Paris, ironically studying magnetism, when they realized their mutual attraction. Of course, the sciences were hardly welcoming towards women at the time, but her marriage to her former advisor cast a long shadow over her own scientific accomplishments, even though she outlived him by many years."

"Yes, but didn't she win the Nobel Prize along with him?" Charlie let the icosidodecahedron fall back onto the desk and dropped his hands into his lap.

"Not only that, she remains the only person to win a Nobel Prize in two different sciences. Nevertheless, the French Academy of Sciences refused to elect her as a member."

Charlie frowned. "I'm not sure where you're going with this."

"It's not an easy road for Amita. What's worse is that you have to let her walk it, at least in part, on her own. I can only speculate as to if this is the case, but you can't fight any battles for her."

"Yeah, tell me something I don't know," he said, slumping back in his chair.

Larry spread his hands apart. "You came to me, Charles. I'm only being forthright with you."

He was silent for a moment, contemplating his friend's words. Finally he said, "I know. I guess I just wanted to hear an easy answer."

"Fie on easy answers. They're always incomplete and unsatisfying."

The corner of his mouth turned up. "Easy for you to say. Your girlfriend isn't 'sulking' around the office."

"No, but that doesn't mean I don't have other concerns." Larry leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the precious little clear space on the top of his desk. "For one, I believe I owe you an apology."

He frowned. "What for?"

Larry shifted slightly in his seat. "It appears that I may have made a grave mistake in taking it upon myself to explain to the gathering of FBI agents precisely how you had erred in your work."

Charlie's frown deepened. He might have come to Larry to ask him for advice about Amita, but that didn't mean he was willing to discuss everything in his life. "I don't understand," he said flatly.

The physicist reached up and scratched one ear. "Have you been in contact with your brother since the debacle at his office the other night?"

"Yeah, he came by the house this morning to try and bully me into working on the case again."

"Well, I feel that it's my fault that you have chosen to remove yourself from that case."

Charlie leaned slightly forward in his chair. "What do you mean?"

Either Larry's ear was really itching, or he'd forgotten he was scratching it. "I don't wish to play amateur psychologist, but based on the available evidence, it seems to me that by comparing your mishap to a well-known and catastrophic yet simple-minded error, I have made it irredeemably awkward for you to go back to your consulting work."

"I guess you and Megan _do _talk pretty often," he muttered in reply.

A faint blush tinged Larry's cheeks. "Charles, if there's anything I can do to assuage your concerns, you have but to ask."

"So you think this is about you?" Charlie asked, unable to keep the incredulity from his voice.

The slight embarrassment on his friend's face was turning to alarm. "That's not what I meant at all, no."

Charlie let out a gusty sigh and sat back in the chair. "I'm sorry, Larry, I don't mean to take anything out on you."

"Then what's the problem?" Larry hastily added, "If I may ask."

He folded his arms across his chest. "I just think they're better off using someone else on this one."

Larry didn't respond, just sat there looking at him thoughtfully. Charlie shifted in his chair and waited. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. "What?" he blurted out.

"I have known you for half of your years on this Earth," Larry began slowly. "I've seen you work as a student and as a teacher and as a researcher without peer. And I can count on _one hand_ the number of times you've expressed a lack of self-confidence."

Now it was Charlie's turn to have his cheeks go pink. "That's not what this is about," he muttered.

"Then what is it? You've made mistakes before, and you'll likely make them again. FBI agents aren't perfect, either-they occasionally make an error in judgment that leads to serious consequences. I'm sure none of them have an issue with your performance."

"But maybe I do." He raised his head and looked Larry in the eye. "And maybe I don't want to risk anyone's life if I make another mistake."

"Have you considered that you might be making things worse by your recalcitrance?"

Charlie frowned. "Worse in what way?"

"Well, far be it from me to stroke your ego, but have you stopped to consider the difference that you have made to the FBI in the years you've worked with your brother? The criminals you have helped to capture, the lives that you have saved?"

Charlie shifted in the chair again. "I haven't totaled them up or anything, if that's what you're asking."

Larry leaned forward. "I don't wish to overdramatize or put undue pressure on you, but every day that you withhold your assistance from the FBI is a day they are not performing as well as they could be. You don't want to risk anyone's life by making a mistake, but you may well be risking lives by staying away."

He swallowed as the meaning of Larry's words sunk in. In a small voice, he said, "Don's out on a raid right now."

"And I'm sure he's in capable hands," the physicist said reassuringly. "He has a fine team."

The teasing retort sprang to his lips automatically. "I suppose one member of that team is especially fine, hmm?"

The shrewd look he got in response told him the change of mood had been successfully achieved. But all Larry said was, "Your assistance is not of highest value in the field anyway. But it is of extremely high value in the office."

Charlie dropped his gaze to the floor. "You think I should go back."

"Of course I do. Charles, one mistake does not wipe out years' worth of contributions."

"But it might." He lifted his head, his expression bleak. "One mistake is all it takes for a bullet to be in the wrong place, for—" He couldn't finish the sentence. _For Don to be killed._

"And that's where you have to understand that your contributions are part of a team," Larry said insistently. "You are not the FBI. _ You _are not even one team. You are Charles Eppes, not responsible for the actions of criminals or agents or firearms." He tilted his head slightly sideways. "But Charles Eppes still matters a lot."

He was silent for a minute. Then he said, "You've thought about this before, haven't you."

The tone of Larry's voice was as serious as he had ever heard it. "You're not the only one with a loved one who is in the line of fire on a daily basis."

He pressed his lips together. Of course Larry would have thought about this before. "I suppose you're right," he said quietly.

All he got in response was a sage nod.

oooooooooooooooo

"He's all yours." Colby let go of the kid's arm and gave him a small shove in the back to propel him towards the waiting agent. He watched as Francisco Perla Ortega was loaded into the back of an FBI sedan, looking around frantically at first before focusing his gaze on his brother, who was being shoved into the back of a nearby Suburban.

There were three others being taken into custody, but the Ortegas were the only two who'd been in the U-Stor-It in Fontana the other night. Colby had recognized them right away, his breath coming in sharply and causing Theresa Pennington to give him a quick look. At the time, they'd been hunkered down for cover behind a crate that looked like the ones they were searching for, so he'd been too concerned with finding cover that wasn't likely to explode if it got hit by a bullet to pay her much attention. Liz and David finally bursting through the back door had provided the distraction they needed to move closer, and it was only a matter of minutes before the warehouse was full of shouting FBI agents and cowed perpetrators. Quite the contrast to two nights ago.

Unfortunately, once it was all over, the crates they'd been hiding behind turned out to contain nothing but iPods. On the bright side, that fit the description of the missing cargo from Lytle Trucking. On the other hand, their original goal of finding said cargo had become subsumed under the much more important material that wasn't on the trucking company's manifests: the missing RPGs. So far, searching the other boxes and crates in the warehouse, they'd come up empty.

Two blond agents were walking past, part of the crew that Colby had led into the warehouse. He'd seen them once or twice around the office, but they looked enough like each other on a regular day that seeing them in their tactical gear made it impossible to tell them apart. So instead of trying to remember whether it was Baines or Edmonds who wore a wedding ring, he said to them both, "Hey, good job in there, you guys."

They both looked at him as though he had spoken in another language. He tried again. "That was good cover fire you provided. Made it a lot easier for me and Pennington to get close enough to grab the Ortegas."

"No problem, Granger," the taller one finally replied. "Just doing our job. The one with the FBI, that is."

Colby swallowed and watched them walk away, their feet kicking up puffs of dust on the dry ground. He felt his jaw clenching, and he forced himself to relax. _Just remember this for later_, he told himself. _ When you need to call on something to psych yourself up for interrogating the losers we arrested today, remember those two_.

"You okay?"

Colby turned to see Theresa Pennington watching him, her head cocked slightly to the side. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said brusquely. He turned and flung open the back door of the Suburban. It was way too hot out here to have his gear on for any longer than he had to. Reminded him of the deserts of Afghanistan, which was never a good thing.

She came up next to him and flipped open the latches on a square black box, lifting the lid to reveal grey foam padding with two blank spaces for Glock pistols. "You know, one of the problems with being the new person in the office is that you never know what's going on, especially when it comes to what people think of each other."

He cast a quick glance over his shoulder at Baines and Edmonds and said, "Yeah, office politics can be tricky."

"It can make it hard to know what's going on in the field, not just in the office." Theresa pulled the two weapons out from the holsters strapped across her chest and laid them in their protective case. "You do something to get on their bad side?"

Colby snorted. "I did something to get on everyone's bad side."

"And yet you're still here. Leading an assault team, no less." She removed her vest and laid it in the back of the Suburban before pulling the elastic band out of her hair and shaking her short brown hair free. "That means you're on Agent Eppes' good side, at least."

_Wouldn't be too sure about that_, he thought, remembering how Don had gone off on him the previous night. But she had a point. There were a dozen FBI agents here, and he'd been in charge of a third of them. That did say something about his boss's trust in him.

Out loud he said, "It's a long story, but I kind of had two assignments going on at the same time." He watched her out of the corner of his eye, curious as to what she already knew about him.

"That can be a bitch, can't it?" was all she said.

"No kidding." Colby ripped open the Velcro and pulled his vest over his head, relishing the weak breeze on his sweat-soaked back. "I'm surprised you haven't heard anything about it," he said casually, hoping he didn't sound too much like he was fishing. Whatever gossip was being spread around the office about him, his team members weren't any likely to hear it than he was; seeing as how they'd been the ones to rescue him, that put them firmly in his camp in the eyes of people like Baines and Edmonds. But an outsider might be able to provide him with some useful information about what the L.A. Field Office thought of one Colby Granger.

Theresa turned towards him, folding her arms across her chest. "I suppose I've heard a few things. But it's always seemed to me that rumors and gossip say more about the people who're telling them than they do about the person they're about." She paused, and a tiny frown furrowed her brow. "If that makes any sense."

"Yeah, it does," he replied, dropping the vest into the back of the SUV and returning her gaze. She looked like she was waiting for him to say something, her green eyes regarding him steadily. He opened his mouth to spill the whole story, to tell her about his now-unclassified undercover assignment, his arrest and escape and rescue, and then he paused. "You know what?" he asked.

"What?"

Colby lowered himself to sit on the tailgate of the Suburban, partly so that he wasn't towering over her and partly because he was exhausted. He'd gotten about three hours of sleep last night after returning from Santa Monica, and the adrenaline of the raid had definitely worn off by now. "See, on the one hand, after what happened to cause those rumors and gossip, I've become a big fan of complete honesty. No holds barred, nothing hidden, I'm gonna come out and say exactly what I think."

"But on the other hand?" Theresa asked, her expression shrewd.

He quirked up the corner of his mouth. "On the other hand, I think I like having someone around who isn't going to look at me funny and want to know if I'm okay all the time."

"Yeah, but I already blew that." She gestured towards a spot a few feet away. "At least, the asking if you're okay part. I don't think I've looked at you funny. Not yet, at least."

He opened his mouth to give a hopefully witty retort when raised voices caught his attention. He looked across the dusty parking lot to the boarded-up gas station where two agents stood, still in their full tactical gear, one gesturing with his spread hands while the other was putting her hands on her hips.

"Oh, boy," Colby muttered, coming to his feet.

Theresa turned to follow his gaze and let out a short sigh. "That happen often?" she asked.

Colby's hackles rose. "Does what happen often?"

She must have heard the defensiveness on their behalf in his tone, for she shook her head and returned to packing away her gear. "Nothing."

He looked at her for a second before turning away and striding across the cracked concrete. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Megan approaching from the opposite direction, while David was moving to deflect any curious agents who wanted to know why the commander of their operation was raising his voice at one of his team members. Or why Don Eppes was yelling at his girlfriend, depending on your interpretation of events.

As he got closer, Colby heard Liz say, her voice level, "Don't you dare try that with me, Eppes. You delayed giving us the signal, and I want to know why."

Don's back was to Colby, but he could still hear the older man retorting, "So you're telling me you would have done things differently? Maybe entered the warehouse earlier, when there were two guys with a clear line of sight to the back door, instead of waiting for me to give the command?"

"What's going on, guys?" Megan's voice was calm but insistent, warning them that they weren't exactly in private. Colby hung back a step, wanting to give them room to work it out, ready to step in if need be.

Liz spoke, her voice taut, "We're having a difference of opinion over the timing of the operation. It seems to me that our leader was overly cautious in sending David and me into the warehouse."

Now he understood why David was standing guard so many feet away. He didn't want to be forced to take sides in this. Colby could hardly blame him. He hoped no one asked him for his opinion, since as far as he was concerned, Liz was right. He'd been expecting the third team to swing open the back door at least two minutes before they actually had. It hadn't been a problem, but it might very well have led to his team being pinned down or even surrounded if some other factor had been a little bit different.

Looking at the hesitant expression on Megan's face, he realized that she would know even better than David what had gone on. After all, she'd been at Don's side while he coordinated the operation. "Don, what's your opinion on that?" she asked.

Don lowered his hands to his sides and spoke in a low tone. "My opinion is that I'm the one making the decisions when my team is in the field, and that's what counts."

Colby heard Liz make a scoffing noise. "And we're not supposed to question your judgment, is that it?"

Don briefly pressed his lips together before saying, "Not in front of the rest of the damn team, no, you're not."

Liz's gaze flickered around past Megan and Colby to the agents standing by the vans a few feet away. He wondered if they could make out any of the words that were being said here, but then their body language was probably speaking loudly enough. "This affects everyone, Don," she said more quietly. "It affects Colby and his three agents who were waiting for us to give them cover. It affects you and Megan and the guys with you who might have been fired on because we were late moving in."

"I didn't stall on telling you to move in!" Don barked, running a hand through his hair. "Why aren't you hearing that?"

His words echoed off the metal overhang covering the defunct gas pumps. Then the only sound for a couple of heartbeats was the rush of traffic from the interstate a quarter mile away. "Well, I guess everyone is hearing it now," Liz said, her words precisely spoken, her chin high as she looked at Don.

"Aw, come on," Don was saying, but she had already turned away and started striding towards the vehicle Theresa was standing next to. Colby watched him watch her go, and then he exchanged a glance with Megan. She jerked her head towards the side, and he silently obeyed, slipping away to finish stowing his gear and apparently to drive Liz back to L.A.

"You okay?" Theresa was asking Liz as he approached, and he felt a small smile creep onto his face. It was the same tone of voice she'd used on him just a few minutes ago. _Bet she didn't think being part of this team would mean checking up on all of us_, he thought as he looked at the petite brunette, who was regarding Liz with an air of deliberately casual concern.

"Fine," Liz said tightly, ripping off her vest and tossing it into the back of the SUV. "I'm fine."

He turned to look back at Don and Megan, the low rise and fall of their voices barely audible from this distance. _And it's not like we don't need to be checked up on, either. _At this rate, the suits upstairs were going to be pulling this team apart within a few days.

Assuming they didn't take care of it themselves first.


	12. All or Nothin' at All

oooooooooooooooo

Chapter 6: All Or Nothin' At All

Charlie: I love...working with my brother.  
-"Money for Nothing"

By the time Don pulled into the FBI garage, he had cooled down. But it had taken most of the hour-plus drive to do it. He'd been wary when Megan planted herself in the passenger seat of his Suburban, but thankfully, she had kept her mouth shut during the drive back about the blowup between him and Liz.

When he thought about it, it still galled him. He _hadn't_ been overprotective of Liz - of Agent Warner - back there, he knew he hadn't. He had to make sure they would have adequate cover before sending them in the back door, and he'd seen one or maybe two guys with a clear line of sight. Okay, so their guns and their aim had been towards the front of the building, where his part of the team was; it didn't mean they couldn't have heard the door opening and turned around to open fire. Besides, they'd accomplished their objective; five men were in custody, and all of the cargo on the original manifest - some super-secret kid's toy for the Christmas season - had been recovered.

Of course, the RPGs hadn't exactly been on the original manifest, and the director of Lytle Trucking was still insisting he had no idea where they might have come from. On the other hand, they now had five people to interview regarding said RPGs. Coincidentally, that was one for each member of his team. He was sure he wasn't the only one feeling a little aggressive at the moment. He almost pitied the man who ended up in an interrogation session with Liz right now.

As he climbed out of the vehicle, he noticed two figures disappearing into the stairwell across the garage. Right, he had six people on his team now, with the temporary addition of Theresa Pennington. On the other hand, she'd been on duty for a long time, and he had no idea as to her capabilities in interrogation. Probably better to get her on the paperwork and then send her home.

He voiced the thought to Megan in the elevator, and she agreed. "I think her sleep deficiency matches ours by now," she said, pushing the button for the ninth floor. "And eagerness can only compensate for so much."

"Yeah?" He leaned against the back wall and rubbed a hand tiredly across his face. "What's your take on her?"

Megan shrugged. "She's four years out of Quantico, but this is her first posting away from DC. So she's used to the big office and having to prove herself, but on the other hand, this is kind of her first time away from home. Based on what we've seen so far, I think she'll fit in just fine."

There was something about the profiler's tone that caught the remnants of Don's usually sharp observational skills. "And what aren't you telling me?" he asked.

He got a sharp look in response, followed by a grudging, "There is something, but I don't think it'll be a problem." He raised his eyebrows in a query, and she went on, "Let's just say both she and Colby have been making inquiries about the other's dating status."

Don leaned his head back against the wall with a soft thump. _Was this the FBI or ?_ "Well, it better not be a problem, 'cause I can't exactly say anything about it, you know?"

"Of course you can say something about it if it's interfering with the team's work," Megan replied. "That's part of your job."

He looked over to see her giving him that probing, analyzing look that she favored suspects with. "Yeah, I suppose it is," he replied more sharply.

The elevator dinged their arrival, and he levered himself away from the wall and out the door. Don walked about three steps before he stopped in his tracks. "Well, I'll be damned," he said softly.

In the war room across the bullpen, scribbling away with a yellow marker on one of those clear chalkboards that the latest wave of technological upgrades had brought to the office, stood the familiar curly-haired figure that he had half-expected never to see here again.

Don knew that if he straight-up asked Charlie what had caused his change of heart, his brother would clam up and he'd never hear the reason why. So instead he strode into the room as if nothing unexpected was happening and said casually, "Hey Charlie, what's goin' on?"

The look he got in response was one part relief, two parts apology. What the mathematician said was, "I've got a start on tracing Beachy's network, but there's way too many numbers to do it all by hand. Amita's been entering the dates and the zip codes from the sheets that Colby found into the computer, and I'm working on a divide-and-conquer algorithm to determine what the letters in between mean."

"Divide and conquer, huh?" Don perched on the edge of the nearest table, taking advantage of the chance to just sit for a moment. "Sounds like a good strategy."

Charlie nodded, adding another series of Greek symbols to the board. "In this case, it means breaking the problem down into smaller subproblems. For example, everything with the same string of six letters probably refers to the same action: a drug deal, a cargo theft, something like that. So if we isolate everything with that string, and then compare the dates and locations to the FBI databases, we can figure out what that code means." He paused to erase an exponent and replace it with a bigger number. "And then on to the next one, and so on, and so on."

"All right, sounds good." He paused for a moment, then said, "We caught some of the guys this morning, so I'll be around the rest of the day trying to get something out of them."

The yellow marker faltered for a moment. "Did, uh, did everything go okay?"

"Yeah, everything went fine," Don said in his most confident voice. Everything with the raid had gone fine, it was true. It was just his personal life that was showing blemishes. "I got lots of good people watching my back, you know."

"I know," Charlie replied quietly. He finally turned and met Don's eyes. "I hope I can be considered one of them."

"Of course you are," he replied, his brow furrowing slightly. "Don't ever doubt that, Chuck."

"Don't call me Chuck," came the muttered reply, but it was delivered with a grin.

Don smiled back in reply and hopped off the table, clapping his hand on his brother's shoulder as he passed. "You keep dividing and conquering. I'll be back to check on you."

oooooooooooooooo

David had been surprised, though pleased, when Colby suggested they team up to question Francisco Perla Ortega. His former partner seemed to be willing to give him another shot after the uncomfortable standoff of the last few weeks, and he was willing to give it a try, too.

He'd temporarily been put off by Colby's reluctance to let him take the lead until he remembered that this Ortega brother was the one who had captured Colby the other night at the U-Stor-It. As it turned out, when the tables were turned, the kid wasn't nearly as full of bravado. He was slouched in the metal chair, arms folded in front of him, staring at the floor as if he could burn a hole through it and escape. David planted his rear on the tabletop a foot away from where Ortega sat, Colby taking up a position at the far end of the table. "We got you and we got your brother, Francisco," he started. "One of you is going to rat the other one out, given enough time."

"No way, man," came the quick reply. There followed some half-muttered Spanish words that caused Colby to snap back, "Watch that mouth, wise-ass."

David cast a questioning glance over his shoulder, but Colby gave a quick shake of his head. He turned back and said, "Kidnapping a federal agent. Imprisoning a federal agent. Multiple counts of those, by the way." He went on, ticking items off on his fingers, "Cargo theft, also a federal crime. Also multiple counts." He paused and added in a lighter tone, carefully watching the young man before him, "Oh, and then there's the terrorism charges."

He got a loud snort in reply. "You're making that up, man. Freakin' federal agents make up crap like that all the time."

"No, for real," Colby piped up. "You know what we're talking about, Francisco."

That got him a look, although the response was still, "I got no idea what you're talking about."

"We're talking about the goods that aren't on the cargo manifest." David lowered his tone of voice. "You were right there when we were carrying those boxes back and forth - you know damn well what we're talking about. If we don't find them in time, you're probably going to end up with your brother someplace nice and warm, like a little piece of Cuba known as Guantanamo Bay."

Ortega shifted slightly in his seat. "Those boxes had toys, man. That's it."

On another occasion, David wouldn't have been able to hold back a grin at how the suspect had just cracked open the door on his own confession. But the stakes were too high here for him to celebrate. "What about the weapons?"

Another slight shift in the chair. "What weapons?"

"Damn it, Ortega!" David stood up and loomed over the guy, hands on his hips and baritone voice at near full blast. "We are not playing games here. If you know where those RPGs are and you don't tell us, you're as liable for their use as the guys who actually launch them."

"RP whats?" There was a shade of hesitancy in Ortega's voice for the first time.

David pounced on it, speaking slowly and clearly. "Rocket Propelled Grenades, Francisco. Definitely not toys."

Now their suspect was shaking his head. "No, that's not right. There might have been some guns or something, but nothing that serious." He looked at Colby and then back at David. "You're making this up," he said again, but with less conviction in his voice.

"I saw them, Francisco," Colby said from across the room. "There's no way you didn't know they were there, too."

"Swear to God," Ortega replied, spreading his hands wide. "Hector told us there were guns, but that's all."

Now they were starting to get somewhere. "Hector tell you who those guns were for or where he got them?" David asked.

Francisco shook his head.

"Well, isn't that convenient," David replied, leaning back against the table. "Unfortunately for you, that means you're still on the hook."

"Man, Hector doesn't even know!" Francisco replied, a slight whine in his voice. "So how'm I supposed to know?"

"You mean he's just stockpiling them?" David asked.

"No, he has a buyer, but the _gringo_'s the only one who knows who it is."

"Who's that?" Colby asked.

Francisco shrugged one shoulder. "Some dude. I don't know his name."

"Would you recognize him if you saw a picture?" David asked.

The shrug again. "Maybe."

Colby was already moving towards the door. David cast a questioning glance his way, but it was brushed off. He moved back to Francisco. "And where'd he buy them from?"

"Marta's the only one who knows."

"Okay, so who's Marta?"

Ortega let out the same disbelieving snort he'd started out with. "Like you don't know."

David leaned forward a foot or so, looking Ortega straight in the eye. His voice nearly a growl, he repeated, "Who's Marta?"

Ortega looked back at him for a few seconds, and David held his gaze firm. Finally the kid's lip turned up and he looked away. "You must have disappeared her pretty fast if you can't remember who she is."

David furrowed his brow. "Disappeared her?"

Ortega answered, slowly enough for David to make out the words, but not to know what they meant. "_Ella es una desaparecida_." His dark eyes showed the first sign of emotion, which David was surprised to read as sorrow rather than fear or bravado. He added more quietly, "_Como en mi país_." And with that, he clammed up.

David tried for another five minutes, but could get nothing more out of their suspect than variations on the theme. He looked up as Colby re-entered the room and dropped a photo on the table. "Is this him?"

Ortega cast a quick glance at the picture. "_No se_," he muttered.

Colby rested one hand on the tabletop and one hand on the arm of the chair. "Is this him?" he repeated more slowly and forcefully.

This time, the kid gave the picture his full attention. David could see the flicker of recognition on his face before he grudgingly said, "Yeah, that's him."

He looked at the photograph, and then up at Colby, both of them clearly thinking the same thing. The man in the picture was Joseph Beachy. If he was the only connection between Hector Simeon and the buyers of the RPGs, why would Simeon have had him killed?

Something didn't make sense.

oooooooooooooooo

Don leaned his elbows on the railing and looked towards the skyscrapers of downtown. Sometimes his job really sucked. Like now: they had plenty of information in their hands in the form of six suspects, but none of them were saying enough to be useful. Charlie was plugging away at his work as fast as he could, but it still left Don with nothing to tell the Assistant Director when he met with him in - he checked his watch - twenty-five minutes. He let out a gusty sigh and dropped his head. On the sidewalk below the walkway he was standing on, employees were exiting the building, some of them no doubt headed home, given that it was nearly five o'clock. He wondered when he'd be heading home, and if anyone would be coming with him.

There were footsteps behind him, and he turned to see the object of his thoughts approaching. "Hey," he said quietly, turning his head towards her.

"Hey." Liz came up next to him and mimicked his position. She had her sunglasses on, and as she lifted her head, he could barely make out her eyes flicking towards him before shifting to stare at the skyline.

"Anything new?" he asked. He hadn't heard anything from his teammates all afternoon, but they were supposed to meet him here to give him updates before his briefing with A.D. Wright.

"We finally ID'd the woman they apprehended in the raid the other night." When he nodded, she went on, "Marta Luz Moreno, native of El Salvador, illegally in the U.S."

"For how long?"

Liz shrugged. "She's still not talking."

"If she's afraid of what Simeon will do to her-"

She shook her head, ponytail bobbing back and forth. "We're the ones she's afraid of, Don. Where she's from, the government 'disappears' people they don't like. She thinks that's what's happened to her and that there's no point in cooperating."

He ran a hand over his face. Considering the woman was facing potential criminal charges and almost certainly deportation, she would be "disappearing" in a certain sense. "Well, we'll keep talking to her."

Silence fell, at first what could have been a break between topics of conversation, but as it stretched out, it became an awkward stillness that brought to mind the angry way they'd parted company earlier that morning. Don fidgeted a little, watching Liz and wondering how to frame the words he wanted to say.

Then the silence was shattered when both of them spoke at once. "I'm sorry."

Don let out a soft snort._ At least we're still on the same wavelength_, he thought. Aloud he rushed on to say, "I've been thinking about it all day, and you were right." He took off his shades and hung them over the V of his shirt collar. "I've been trying to picture what I would have done if it had been Colby with David instead of you, and I think I would have given the command to go in earlier." He nibbled on his lower lip as she turned to face him. "I didn't want to admit it to myself this morning 'cause I didn't like the implications. I still don't. But yeah, you were right to call me on it."

Liz slowly took off her own dark glasses. "But I shouldn't have called you on it in front of the team."

He shrugged one shoulder and looked down at the concrete walkway. "If we're gonna work together, we gotta be honest with each other. No matter where and when."

"_If _we're gonna work together," she echoed softly.

His head whipped up, his internal antennae going on alert. "What do you mean?" he asked slowly.

Liz crossed her arms over her chest. "When we were in the storage facility and they were threatening you." He could see the shadow of remembered fear in her eyes as she went on, "I think that I would have done anything they asked to keep them from hurting you." She paused. "_Anything_."

Silence fell again, and he digested her words. He wanted to say that he knew exactly what she meant; hell, he'd been willing to sacrifice his own life for her and the rest of the team. But before he could say anything, Liz drew in a deep breath and added, " I can criticize you for being overly cautious this morning, but I would've done the same thing in your place. And I know as an agent that that's not right."

Then he understood what she meant, and his mouth went dry. "So what are you saying?"

"I don't know." She bit her lip. "I do know that I don't want to lose you. In any sense of the term. But I don't know how to reconcile that with both of us being able to do our jobs."

Don didn't know what he could say to that; he didn't know how to reconcile those two things, either. It was one thing to balance the tricky politics of having one of your co-workers sharing your bed; that happened in offices everywhere. What was special to them was the danger that their jobs involved, the danger they'd been all too forcibly reminded of a few days ago and again this morning. If you couldn't do your job because you were too busy worrying about a loved one, whether that was a family member or an intimate acquaintance, something had to give.

He couldn't stand to think of what that might be.

Liz cleared her throat and looked up at the skyline. "The thing is," she said quietly, "if I were to transfer to another team, that would reflect poorly on both of us."

"Same if I requested a transfer for you," he automatically added, his heart thumping. "Liz, I don't want-"

She put her hand over his. "I don't want it either," she replied. "I think we can get through this. But it's going to come up again, given the jobs that we have and the time we spend in the field. And we are _not _prepared for it. But we don't have the time to deal with it right now." She cleared her throat. "Given what you said to me the other day-"

"Forget I said it," he cut her off. Confusion and hurt flashed across her face, and he hurried on, "You're right, we don't have time to deal with it right now. I-I was just so relieved to hear your voice, you know, so glad that you were okay, that I…." Don mentally crossed his fingers as he went on, "I said what I thought I was supposed to say. I'm sorry if I confused you."

She blinked for a moment, then looked almost relieved. "No, it's okay. Heat of the moment and all, I understand."

"Right," he agreed, his heart sinking. So he hadn't misheard the half-hearted tone of her response to his impulsive "I love you" the other night. He ran his hand through his hair. Clearly, it had been the heat of the moment on her part, an automatic response that she hadn't really meant.

It hadn't been automatic on his part, had it?

There was movement off to his right, and he looked up to see Colby, David, and Charlie approaching somewhat warily. "Sorry to interrupt," Colby called out.

"No problem," Liz said, giving Don's hand a squeeze before letting go and turning around. "What's up?"

With one final exchange of glances, the two agents came forth, Charlie trailing slightly behind. "We finally got something out of the Ortegas," David said excitedly. "Bought ourselves some more time."

"They know where the RPGs are?" Don asked. Recovering the stolen weapons had to be their first priority, no matter what else was going on in this complicated case.

"Not exactly," David admitted, his enthusiasm lagging a little. "But at the moment, it doesn't matter."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Turning to face his teammates meant Don was looking directly into the sun, and he slipped his sunglasses back on.

Colby took over. "According to our guys, as of this morning, Hector Simeon was still trying to get in touch with Joseph Beachy."

It was a sign of how tired Don was that it took a few seconds for him to make the connection. "So Simeon wasn't the one who had Beachy killed."

"Nope. And apparently Beachy was the only one who knew how to contact the buyers."

Again, it took a little longer than it should have, and Liz was the one to fill in the gap. "So Simeon has a bunch of RPGs and no one to sell them to."

"Doesn't mean he won't find another buyer," Don interjected.

Charlie cut in, shaking his head. "Don, this kind of operation is new to Simeon. According to the divide-and-conquer algorithm, he's never done something like this before, at least through Beachy."

"The Ortegas thought they were smuggling guns," Colby added. "This is new stuff for Simeon, which means he won't have a buyer lined up right away, which gives us some time to find him."

"Well, that's something," Don agreed. "Anything else?"

"We found out that our mystery woman is named Marta Luz Moreno," said David with an air of triumph.

Don hated to burst his bubble, but he said it anyway. "We know that already."

David's face fell, but he went on, "Do you know why Simeon was so pissed that she's in custody?"

"That much, we don't know," he admitted.

"If Beachy was the link to the buyer, she's the link to the supplier," David explained. "One of the other guys we got this morning told us that she's the contact to where the RPGs came from. Apparently Simeon's been looking to get into some more serious arms dealing, and now this pipeline's been cut before it can really get started."

Don turned to look at Liz. "You've got to get more out of her than her name," he said. "No matter who she thinks we are, we need to find out what she knows."

She nodded tersely and made to move towards the building. He reached towards her for a second, then remembered they weren't alone. "Talk to you later," he said instead, hoping she caught the double meaning to his words. All he got in reply was a short nod, and then she was gone.

When he looked back, Colby and David were exchanging glances. "We'll, uh, go and help her out," Colby said.

"No, you two head home before you have to start mainlining caffeine," Don replied. "Seven sharp tomorrow."

"Look who's talking," Colby muttered, but he turned and headed inside without disagreement. David paused for a moment, but Don gave him a look over the top of his sunglasses, and he went off without further comment.

"Boy, if you ever do have kids, you'll have no problem disciplining them," Charlie said, his tone slightly amused.

"Yeah, well, the odds of that are probably too small for even you to calculate," he muttered.

"I thought you and Liz were, well, not like you're going to have kids any time soon, but I thought things were going well."

Don pursed his lips. "Things are fine, Charlie," he said in a tone intended to brook no further discussion.

Charlie opened his mouth, then must have seen the look on his face. "Right. Leaving the comments about kids to Dad. Not a problem."

That brought a small smile to his face. "How 'bout you and Amita?" he asked, turning around to lean his back against the railing. "You don't have any office politics to deal with there, do you?"

Charlie gave a small snort. "You got a few hours?"

He checked his watch. "Actually, I got five minutes. So, no." He went on, "But maybe when this case is over, yeah?"

"Yeah, maybe so." There was a pause, and Charlie said, "I, uh, I'd better get back to working on that algorithm."

"Yeah, okay." He had to organize a few thoughts before his meeting with Wright, and out here was probably easier than in the chaos of the bullpen. "See you later."

Charlie lifted his hand and turned on his heel. He was a few steps away when Don called after him, "Hey, Charlie?" When his little brother turned around, he said, "Thanks for coming back."

The smile he got in response was enough to power the FBI building for the long night ahead. He returned the smile and watched Charlie walk away. _Well, at least one relationship isn't screwed up._ He shook off the melancholy thoughts. _Back to work, Eppes._

End of Part 2


	13. Badlands

ooooooooooooooooo

Part 3

Lights out tonight, trouble in the heartland  
Got a head-on collision smashin' in my guts, man  
I'm caught in a cross fire that I don't understand  
But there's one thing I know for sure, girl  
I don't give a damn for the same old played-out scenes  
I don't give a damn for just the in-betweens  
Honey, I want the heart, I want the soul, I want control right now  
-Bruce Springsteen, "Badlands"

oooooooooooooooo

Chapter 1: Better Days

David: That's the thing about friends: sometimes they turn on you.  
Alan: Yeah, that's a big test, isn't it? How do you deal with that really close friend who lets you down?  
David: Mr. Eppes, he did not just forget to pick me up from the airport.  
-"Trust Metric"

Colby tapped one finger on top of the steering wheel, strains of Toby Keith from this morning's radio alarm still running through his head. A motion to his right caught his eye, and he turned to see David shifting in the passenger seat, annoyance on his face. He stopped the finger tapping.

They were heading east on the 10 for the third time in four days, this time on their way to interview the CEO of Lytle Trucking about how his missing containers had turned up with RPGs inside. Don had questioned the guy over the phone, but now an in-person visit was called for. When Colby had shown up a little before seven, he'd found an e-mail from Don ordering the first two arriving agents to head out to Fontana ASAP. He'd looked up from his desk to see David watching him. "Just like old times," he'd muttered before picking up the coffee he'd barely taken a sip of and heading towards the elevator, not bothering to check to see if David was following.

They hadn't said more than a couple of words to each other in the half hour they'd been on the freeway. Colby sighed. Far as he could see, it was up to David to make the first move. With his luck, David was thinking the same thing. He'd just been complaining to Don about how the two of them hadn't gotten a chance to talk. Now here they were, the perfect opportunity, and the only sound was the thrum of the tires on the pavement. Up ahead, the brown cloud of smog was thickening the farther east they traveled, blown along by the offshore winds. _ What a beautiful day_, Colby thought. _ Not_.

A white sedan sped past them on the left, and Colby jerked upright in reflex. He watched the car as it wove in and out of the light traffic, not relaxing until it was at least half a mile ahead. Then he let out a deep breath, feeling his heart thumping in his chest and willing it to slow down. _That's all I need_, he thought. _One more thing to have flashbacks about._

"You all right, man?" David's tone held more concern than he'd heard out of him since – well, more concern than he'd heard from him in months.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He realized the reply was a little too brusque and went on, trying to keep his voice light, "Guess it's a little shell shock, you know?"

"Sure." A long pause, and then David said, "That wasn't the car from the other night, was it?"

He let out a soft snort. "You know how many white sedans there are in L.A.?"

"Three million, six hundred thousand, two hundred and sixty."

"Approximately?" he asked, lifting his eyebrows.

"Yeah, I can't remember the exact number." When Colby shot a curious glance towards the passenger seat, he couldn't read David's expression with his sunglasses on. "I tried looking it up the other night, but there were too many to do anything with without a license plate or at least a make and model."

"Don really had you trying that?"

A short pause. "Naw, it was after you left with Theresa. I thought I could…well, never mind."

They passed another half a mile in silence, Colby wondering how to take advantage of the crack that had just opened in David's armor. It was his partner who broke the silence, surprising him. "I don't like the thought of them out there looking for you."

"You and me both," Colby muttered. "I thought it was all over."

"So that means it was the kind of assignment that _could _be over?"

He heard curiosity rather than accusation behind the words, and so he replied, "It all hinged on Dwayne. Without him…." He shrugged. "It wasn't about busting the Chinese. It was about busting our leak to them."

He looked over to see David leaning his head back against the headrest. "How'd you end up on Taylor Ashby's list then?"

_Damn it, ask me anything else_. "David, I'm sorry, but I can't talk about that."

There was no response for a moment, and he was sure he'd blown it. Finally, "That's cool," came the measured reply. "I should have expected that."

Colby let out a sigh and slid his hands around to the bottom of the steering wheel. "It's not that I don't want to, you know."

"Yeah, I know." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw David turn his head to look out the side window as he let out a deep sigh. "You do what you gotta do."

"Well, I guess you'd know about that." The bitter words slid out before he could stop them, and his hands clenched around the wheel.

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

He'd known this was going to come to a head at some point, but he hadn't expected to be doing seventy-five down the San Bernardino Freeway while he hashed out months of misunderstanding and hurt with the guy who had been his best friend. But there was no turning back now. "I tried to put myself in your shoes, you know. What I would be thinking if you were the one sitting in the interrogation room, and I'd just been told by some unverified voice recording that you were a spy."

"Now wait a minute-"

Colby kept going, raising his voice to override his partner. "And I kept coming back to one thing. There aren't many people I've been closer to in my life than Dwayne, and I had to spend two years watching him sell out our country so he could make a few bucks. But when they first told me what was going on, what they were asking me to do?" He shook his head. "It took me two weeks to believe them, and even then, up until I saw Dwayne actually making a drop, I thought there had to be a mistake." He accelerated to get past a big rig, then slowed back down to ten miles over the speed limit. "I suppose I should be flattered that you were so quick to believe me. All I had to do was say the word."

"Come on, Granger." David's reply was as sharp as his own had been. "You don't know anything about walking in my shoes. Not a thing."

A hot retort sprang to his lips, but he forced himself to take a deep breath. He'd envisioned this conversation dozens of times during the past few months, and he'd never managed to get past the part where they were shouting at each other, or maybe even came to blows. It had been cathartic to picture it like that, but this was reality, and if there was any chance of keeping this partnership, this team, together, he had to take a different tack.

So instead, he said quietly, "Then why don't you tell me about it."

There was silence, and for a moment he thought he'd lost his chance. Then David started in a low voice, "Thing is, where I grew up, I learned that everyone let you down sooner or later. Parents, family, friends…they either did something wrong or something happened to them. They fell in with the wrong crowd, they turned into someone else and you didn't know who they were anymore. It's hard to trust people when that's what you're used to."

Colby hadn't even thought of that. All of those imaginary conversations had included various excuses on David's part that hadn't, of course, been enough. But then, he hadn't really been trying to think of an explanation, hadn't looked past his own hurt to try and see it from the other man's point of view. Still, it didn't quite ring true. "You didn't have any trouble trusting your friend when he was accused of murder," he retorted.

The reply was simple and pointed. "He told me he didn't do it." _And you told me you did,_ was the unspoken follow-up.

Colby drew in another deep breath. There wasn't much he could say to that. After all, what reason would someone have for admitting they were a spy when they weren't? Only someone who was deep undercover - and your average FBI agent didn't expect that of the person they'd been closely working with for two years. It was on the tip of his tongue to say that Don hadn't believed it, but he didn't know that for sure anyway. It was only conjecture, based on his reading of the man during his interrogation and how he'd responded to Colby's desperate call from the subway. Heck, for all he knew, his boss simply couldn't admit that he'd been wrong.

David shifted in his seat again. "Besides, it doesn't matter now. Now you're Colby Granger the Hero, and I'm just Special Agent Sinclair."

"Oh, come on, what're you talking about?" It hurt to hear David say that. Colby had been going out of his way to avoid any mention of commendation for what he'd done; the medal from the White House had been dropped into a box in his closet, and he'd absolutely forbidden any mention of it beyond the obligatory press release. He just wanted to forget the whole mess had ever happened, or at least to the extent that the occasional nightmare would let him.

"Hey man, it's okay. Makes you popular with the ladies, right?"

He shot a look across the front seat. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

David's eyebrows raised above his sunglasses. "Agent Pennington?"

Colby snorted. "She doesn't know anything about it."

"You kidding? Everyone who works in the L.A. field office knows something about it."

That time, he could feel a little bit of panic in the look he gave the other man. "What do you mean?"

"Hey, we couldn't have everyone thinking you were…well, you know. Not one of the good guys. So there might have been a few e-mails sent around before you got back, setting the record straight and all. I'm pretty sure she was here by that time. Something about a Presidential Medal of Freedom?"

Colby let his head fall back against the headrest for a brief second. So much for the White House not notifying his superiors. It sounded like they'd notified the whole goddamn office. "Oh, hell," he muttered.

"Something tells me it's not just overblown modesty that's got you saying that," David replied.

Colby thought for a moment about how to phrase it. Finally he said, "I guess I don't want two years of my life erased and replaced with some story about being someone I'm not. I don't-" He let out a short sigh. "I don't want everything about me to be defined by that one thing I did."

Silence fell. He flipped on the turn signal, starting the trek across five lanes of fast-moving traffic to reach their exit. He'd made it halfway there when David spoke up. "Fair enough," he said. "But you can't act like it doesn't define you at all. You're trying to walk around like nothing ever happened, and it doesn't work like that. You are not the same person we all thought you were, Colby. I'm not saying that's a bad thing. But you cannot pretend that nothing is different from how it was last year at this time."

He mulled that over for a moment, punching the accelerator to get past another semi before cutting over into the exit lane. Finally he said, "David, I'm the same guy I've always been. Don't think that you don't know who I am, 'cause you do."

"Eh, I don't know about that." David paused before going on, "You're a lot tougher than I ever thought you were, and believe me, I didn't think you were a wimp."

He hesitated for only a second before saying, "If you guys had gotten to that ship two minutes later, my so-called toughness would have been irrelevant. I owe you a lot."

"I wish we'd been two hours earlier." He could hardly make out the words, since David was turning towards the window as he said them. Still, the sentiment was clear.

Colby gave a half-smile as he came to a stop at the traffic light. "I hear you," he said fervently, meaning it at least two different ways.

Silence fell for a moment. Then David said, his tone lighter, "So does this mean we're gonna be trusted to work together now? I keep wondering if Don's going to call in Charlie to figure out what permutations he can make of the team without causing any trouble."

"I don't know, I didn't think it was so bad." Colby quickly went on, "Since I've been partnered with Agent Pennington."

"Uh huh." A teasing note entered his partner's voice. _Damn, he'd missed that sound._ "You thinking of doing a little special investigating?"

"If that's what you want to call it," he drawled as he made the right-hand turn off the exit ramp. David's answering chuckle made him smile.

Whether it was a smoggy day outside or not, the air in the car suddenly felt a little bit clearer.

oooooooooooooooo

"So that's the main difference between the first derivative and the second derivative," Charlie finished, looking over his shoulder at the two students sitting in front of his desk.

The guy's face was scrunched up in confusion, but he could see a light bulb coming on over the girl's head. "So for the second problem, we should be taking the second derivative and setting that equal to zero?"

"Exactly." He beamed at them both. Seeing the puzzled expression of the first student, he said, "Amy, why don't you see if you can explain it to Chad?" He watched as she sketched out a diagram in her notebook that was very similar to the one he had drawn on the board, talking excitedly as she did so.

Slowly, the boy's furrowed eyebrows straightened out, and eventually he said, "Hey, yeah, I get it. It made a lot more sense that time." Then he looked up at Charlie and quickly said, "No offense, Professor Eppes."

"None taken," Charlie said with a smile, spreading his hands wide. "Sometimes all it takes is a different perspective on the same material. That's why your homework sometimes attacks the same kind of problem from different points of view; what makes sense to one person might be harder for someone else to understand."

"Cool," Amy said. Looking up at the clock, she said, "Oh, crap, we've got chem in ten minutes. Thanks for the help, Professor," she said as she shoved her notebook into her book bag, Chad following suit.

"Any time," Charlie said as they hurried out. Then a smile curled the corners of his mouth. As hard as he tried to be friendly and accessible, freshmen often felt too intimidated to come to their professor for help, preferring a TA or a classmate. It always felt good when one or more of them actually came to his office hours.

He was almost done erasing the integrals and line graphs from the chalkboard when the phone rang. Expecting Don, he picked it up with a casual, "Yo."

"Professor Eppes?"

He unconsciously stood up straighter. "Yes, this is he."

The voice went on in a British accent, "This is Ian Thrift, editor for the _Journal of Combinatorics_. I have a couple of questions for you about a paper you recently submitted, and rather than go through – "

Charlie cut him off. "Sorry, but are you sure? I don't think I've submitted anything to your journal recently."

"Let me see, ah, here it is. 'A combinatorial algorithm for minimizing submodular functions of directed lattice paths.'"

He frowned. "I think you're confusing me with someone else, Dr. Thrift." Come to think of it, that title sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it.

There was the sound through the phone of a throat clearing. "Yes, well, I understand that the paper was submitted under the name of Amita Ramanujan, but it seemed wise to consult you directly."

Right, that was where he'd seen the title before: on Amita's printer at the top of a stack of paper ready to be proofread before final submission. He'd offered to look it over, but she'd declined, saying she wanted to submit it as quickly as possible. "I don't understand," Charlie said, slowly sitting down. "Haven't you contacted Dr. Ramanujan?"

"As I said, Dr. Eppes, I'm already circumventing the formal contact process, so it seemed best to go straight to the main author. Now, in the second section, you say that – "

"Hold on." Charlie frowned. "I'm not the author. I just said that."

"Ms. Ramanujan was your graduate student, I believe?"

Charlie rolled his eyes. Every once in a while he ran into one of the last of the dinosaurs, an old-timer who had trouble believing that female mathematicians were more than secretaries. Apparently this was one of those idiots. Why else would he refer to her having gone to grad school and then ignore her title? "Yes, _Dr._ Ramanujan was my advisee, but I can assure you, I had nothing to do with this paper. She produces her own results and is actually considered an expert in combinatorial algorithms."

There was a pause. "I see. Well, perhaps I was mistaken."

The snippy tone caused his hackles to rise. "Do you always assume that papers submitted by assistant professors are written by their advisors? Because if that's the case, I'm going to advise all the combinatoricists I know not to publish in your journal, no matter how long they've had their ." Sure, this might be the lead journal in the field, but if enough people stopped publishing in it, it would sink down into the depths of the basement library shelves where the dust went undisturbed for months, if not longer.

"Oh no, not at all," Thrift hastily replied. "There's nothing wrong with giving a little helping hand to a former student; we've all done it from time to time. But in this case, I understand that the two of you are, shall we say, frequent collaborators?" The knowing tone on those last few words made it clear that Thrift was using them as a euphemism and not in their usual academic meaning.

Charlie shot to his feet, remembering just in time that his office door was open. "What do you mean by that?" he asked, his voice turning cold.

"Now, Professor Eppes, I don't mean to give offense." The Englishman cleared his throat again. "My apologies."

His tone wasn't exactly sincere, but right now all Charlie wanted to do was slam the phone down and never speak to this guy again. He had a horrible sinking feeling that this cad's reasoning was similar to the morons who had rejected Amita's from the Munich conference, and that she was right: there wasn't a whole lot he could have done about it without making things worse.

But at least he could do something here.

"Let me make this clear," he said, casting his mind back to the last time he saw Don chew someone out and trying to project that same air of deadly calm anger, "Dr. Ramanujan is a fine mathematician who has more than earned her Ph.D. and her current faculty position. Any work she produces is her own and does not deserve to be tainted by innuendo or gossip. Is that understood?"

Another pause, and another throat-clearing. "Quite."

"Good." With a small amount of childish satisfaction, Charlie dropped the receiver back onto the base. He ran his hands over his face. He didn't get blindingly angry often, and when he did, it took a bit of effort to return to normal. As long as no students walked in for the next few minutes, he'd be okay.

"Charlie?"

His head whipped up, and he saw Amita standing in the door. _No students or Amita_, he amended in his head. "Uh, hi."

She entered the office, her brows puckered in concern. "Are you okay?"

He nodded, a little too vigorously. "I'm fine. How are you?" _And how long were you out in the hallway?_

"I'm fine." Her head was tilted slightly to the side, her eyes clearly demonstrating that she didn't believe a word he'd said. "Was that Don on the phone? You seem kind of upset."

"No, it, um, it was a journal editor." That much he could tell her at least. With a forced laugh, he said, "Sometimes they want you to make so many changes to the paper, you might as well write a different paper, you know?" He looked down and rearranged some papers on his desk. "Don't you hate it when they review the paper they think you should have written instead of the one you actually did?"

"Uh-huh." Her tone indicated that she didn't buy it. He looked up to see those beautiful dark eyes focused on him, and he silently begged her to just let it go. "Charlie, what's going on?"

_Message not received_. He took a deep breath. "Amita, did you actually talk to the organizers of the Munich conference?"

"No, not directly." Her eyes narrowed, and she added a drawn-out, "Why?"

Charlie looked down at his desk. "I, uh, was just talking to a journal editor who seemed to be laboring under a similar misconception about your work."

She let out a sigh and flopped into a chair in front of his desk, the stack of papers she was carrying dropping onto her lap. "Let me guess, they wanted to get your opinion of the paper since you were obviously part of the research that went into it?"

He reached up and scratched his ear. "No - well - they actually thought I had written it."

Amita's cheeks flushed and she lowered her head. "Well, that's a new low," she said softly.

He stood up and walked around the desk to sit beside her. Reaching out to take her hand, he said, "Amita, what can we do about this?"

The corner of her mouth quirked down. "If I knew, I'd already be doing it."

"How - how much of a problem is this? How common is it?" He'd never had his students' work questioned before, but then this was the first time he'd been romantically involved with a former student. Maybe that changed things.

She shrugged one shoulder and turned to face him. "In other fields they have blind reviewing, where the author's name isn't known to the reviewer, so there isn't this cloud of suspicion over junior faculty. But math has so many tiny little communities that we all know each other's work anyway, so most reviewers know whose paper they're reading. Or at least they think they do," she added with a roll of the eyes.

"If that's the case, why can't people seem to figure out that it's _your _work and not mine?"

She shook her head sadly. "I don't know, Charlie."

"Well, I'm pretty sure that the jerk I talked to understands what's going on now," he said, trying to sound confident. "If we take them on one at a time, that's what we have to do."

"I'm not sure it works that way," she said. Then a small smile lit her face. "But I love you for trying."

He smiled back and leaned forward to kiss her._ If only everything could be solved this way_, he thought. _Of course, maybe then I'd want there to be more problems in the world…_


	14. Tougher than the Rest

oooooooooooooooo

Chapter 2: Tougher Than The Rest

Alan: There's one thing you and your brother have in common. With some things you're both very thorough; other stuff, you completely miss.  
-"Pilot"

Don scrubbed a hand over his face and stared at the monitor as if he could force the image to come into focus through sheer will. Cooperation with the Department of Defense had netted them satellite images from three nights ago of most of the area within an hour's drive of Fontana, and half a dozen junior agents were combing through the images searching for three black vans holding the missing weapons. One of the most likely candidates was up on his screen, but whether it was his tired eyes or the resolution of the image, he wasn't seeing anything useful.

"Don, you got a minute?"

He looked up at Megan, hearing both the friendliness and the demand in her tone. "Yeah, what's up?"

She jerked her head to the side. "Can we take a walk?"

His antennae went up. Colby and David were out of the office, Liz was carrying out an interrogation, and the rest of the bullpen was surprisingly quiet for half-past nine. But apparently the office interior still wasn't deserted enough. "Yeah, give me a sec."

He closed out the window and put the computer to sleep before rising from his chair and following her outside, casting a surreptitious glance or two at Megan along the way. She looked as tired as any of them, but without the same driven expression that he'd seen on everyone else who'd been part of the mess the other night. He wondered for a moment what she was feeling, having missed out on the action but still having to deal with the aftermath. Knowing Megan, she probably didn't tell Larry anything that wasn't completely public information, which meant she didn't have someone to bare her soul to the same way he and Liz did.

Not that either of them was confiding much in the other at the moment. They'd said little last night: went to his place, ate a takeout dinner and collapsed into bed. It was the closest to eight hours of sleep he'd gotten in a while, even if he hadn't intended it. He still wasn't sure that Liz had genuinely forgotten to set the alarm, but he wasn't about to push it. Any implication that she didn't know what she was doing was _not_ going to go over well at the moment.

They exited the building, and Don squinted in the sunlight. He clapped a hand to his shirt pocket, then made a face as he realized his sunglasses were sitting inside on his desk. He gestured to a bench well out of the way of the foot traffic through the plaza, and Megan nodded.

"So what's up?" he asked once they were seated.

She folded her arms across her chest and hunched her shoulders a little, making her look like she was cold despite the warm sun beating down on them. "First off, I probably shouldn't be telling you this," Megan said in a low tone.

"That's a great start," Don muttered. The beginning of a headache was hovering over his eyebrows, and the bright light wasn't helping.

Her lips twisted. "There's some concern from upstairs that you shouldn't be in charge of this investigation."

"Yeah, tell me something I don't know," he replied. He'd had to fight like the devil to keep control of the case, and the way things kept mushrooming outward, retaining control was going to take some heavy-duty politicking. He was usually good at that sort of maneuvering, but at the moment he was devoting all of his energy to chasing down Hector Simeon and three dozen RPGs.

Her tone of voice grew sharper. "Okay, did you know that they asked me this morning to evaluate you and see if you _are _up to the task?"

He raised his eyebrows, incredulous. "What, like a formal evaluation?" That couldn't be done by someone on his team, and it usually couldn't be done without official notification.

"No, not formally." Megan shifted a little in her seat. "I was asked to make some observations and report my findings later on today."

"Uh huh." Don eyed her more closely. "What kind of observations?"

She shrugged. "How everyone's coping with the aftereffects of what happened the other night."

"Does that include you?" he threw back at her.

"I wasn't there, Don," she replied.

"No, but there's plenty of aftereffects to go around." He looked at her for a moment, then dropped his gaze, forcing down his defensiveness at the same time. "Sorry. I take it the idea was _not _to have you come directly to each one of us and ask?"

She gave a soft snort. "Not exactly."

Don leaned back against the bench and crossed one leg over the other, ankle resting above his knee. "So what do you want to know?"

Megan's tone turned dry. "I don't suppose asking 'How are you?' would garner me an honest answer?"

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" He kept his tone light, but when she turned towards him with her eyebrows lowered, he gave her a serious look. "Honestly? I'm tired as hell, I'm scared to death for Liz and Colby because of the people who are after them, and I'm scared to death for all of us if we don't get those RPGs back."

She blinked. "Wow. Are you always this open when you're exhausted?"

Don quirked up the corner of his mouth. "Only when someone I trust tells me they're here to spy on me."

Megan broke his gaze and looked down at the concrete walkway. "What about the rest of the team?" she asked quietly. "How are they getting along?"

"There's a little tension, I guess, but I don't think it's getting in the way." He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. "I mean, whatever went wrong the other night is not a function of inter-team dynamics, that's for sure." _Not sure _what _it was a function of, but I don't think anyone can blame any of us._

"I wish I'd been there," Megan said suddenly, brushing away a speck of dirt from her khaki pants. He looked over and was struck by the expression on her face: a combination of guilt and regret, like she'd let him down.

"No, you don't," he replied seriously.

There was that wry twist to her mouth again. "You don't know what I was doing instead," she said. "It couldn't have been much worse."

"Worse than an hour straight of expecting a bullet to the head at any second?" Don made a scoffing noise, pushing back the memories that his words were bringing back to life. "There's not much worse than that."

Megan turned sideways, pulling her knees up and tucking her feet under her. "Most agents would be asking for a couple of days off after something like that."

"Yeah, well, we got too much to do to be taking time off," Don replied, slumping back against the back of the bench. _Or to be sitting out here chatting_, he thought, but he kept it to himself.

She cleared her throat. "And some agents might be required to take a couple days of leave. After something like that."

Don stared at her. "Is that what this is about?" They couldn't put him on mandatory leave, could they? No one had been hurt, there weren't even any shots fired, and they were all fine. _More or less_, added a voice in his head that he ignored.

"It's me reading between the lines," she admitted. "You're pushing so hard on this thing that I don't think you're taking time to process what's happened."

He scoffed again. "We don't have time to _process_, Megan. We have a job to do. Come on, you know how it is."

"And you just told me that you couldn't think of anything much worse than what you all went through." She looked at him reproachfully.

"Hey, those two things aren't mutually exclusive." When she didn't reply, he let out a sigh. "Look, I'm planning on going to see Bradford once this all blows over, okay? You can tell that to whoever you want to if it makes them happy."

Megan's expression darkened. "This isn't about crossing some t's and dotting some i's, Don. This is about making sure you're okay with doing the job."

And something inside him snapped. "You think I can't do my job? Okay, what do you want to hear from me, huh? That I didn't think I was going to be coming back? That a man had a gun to my head and was ready to pull the trigger and that there wasn't a damn thing I could do to stop him?" He glared at Megan, his heart suddenly pounding the same way it did every time he allowed himself to think about what had nearly happened to him.

And then it hit with the same stunning clarity that he'd experienced back in Dr. Bradford's office months ago, talking about trusting his team. Don looked down at the ground, his mind racing. "Not a damn thing," he said again, but more softly. He'd been about as far from being in control as you could get during those horrible minutes he'd been kneeling on the concrete, expecting every moment to hear the gun go off and wondering if he would feel the bullet enter his skull. His life was in the hands of a gang of men who weren't likely to let them survive the night. And there wasn't a thing he could have done to influence the outcome.

He felt a light hand on his arm. "Repeat after me," came Megan's voice. "My name is Don Eppes and I'm a control freak."

He abruptly sat up straight and her hand fell away. "My name is Don Eppes and I'm an FBI agent," he retorted. "C'mon, Megan, you can't exactly be a Type B and do this job. If I push myself, it's because I have to. Certain things have to get done and I - I don't want the responsibility of having handed them off to someone else if they might not do them right."

There was silence for a moment. Then Megan said softly, "Is that what you really think?"

Don looked at her for a moment and then lowered his face into his hands, suddenly aware of how his words could be interpreted with regards to the rest of his team. "I don't know," he said, his voice muffled. He replayed the last few minutes in his head, hearing the frustration that had burst forth and the honesty that he hadn't been showing even to himself. _Learn something every day, don't you?_

After a few more seconds, he sighed and said, "That thing with Colby yanked the rug out from under all of us, you know?" _As if I didn't have enough trust issues already._

"Don, I listened to all of your accounts of what happened the other night. You're right, trusting each other is _not _the problem." When he raised his head, she went on, "It's trusting the people above you. Nobody told you about Colby. Nobody warned you before leaving you out of a major operation. And me sitting here telling you they don't trust you isn't exactly helping."

He let out a slow breath. "Nobody _could _tell me about Colby," he replied, turning her words over in his mind.

"Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt," came Megan's quiet response.

Looking at her more closely, he could see that she was referring to herself as much as to him. "I don't think I have the market cornered on mistrust right now," he said, lifting his eyebrows.

"You're not so bad at reading people yourself, Don," she replied with a rueful grin. "Or is it basically tattooed on my forehead?"

"Only to someone who knows you," he answered.

She reached over and patted his leg. "So what are my observations to report?"

"You tell me," he instantly responded.

Megan tilted her head to the side and regarded him for a moment. "Confident in yourself and your team, determined to make up for a mistake that wasn't even yours, and more than capable of bringing in the bad guys."

He blinked. "Thanks," he said, infusing his voice with as much sincerity as he could.

Then she reached out and quickly rubbed her knuckles against his cheek. "And in need of a shave, but anyone can see that."

"What, you don't like the rugged look?" Don shot back, drawing down his eyebrows and pretending to look offended.

She rolled her eyes. "Come on, Mr. Rough-and-Ready, we'd better get back inside before someone comes looking for us."

Don grinned. "After you, ma'am," he said, affecting a cowboy drawl.

And despite the gravity of their conversation, he was suddenly feeling better than he had in days.

oooooooooooooooo

Liz pushed open the glass door and nodded at the blond agent who was exiting. She really hoped he had made a fresh pot of coffee, since she wasn't up for either dregs or making a new pot. Thankfully, the carafe was nearly full, and she grabbed a cup and poured the dark brew nearly to the top.

Behind her, the door opened, and she cast a glance over her shoulder. Theresa Pennington was walking in, stifling a yawn. "Hey, Liz," she said, her voice muffled by her hand.

"How are you?" she replied, putting the coffeepot back on the burner and casting a surreptitious glance at the clock. Nearly ten in the morning. She wished she could get away with rolling into the office as late as the junior agent did.

"In need of some of that," came the answer. Liz stepped out of the way and watched as the other woman poured a cup of coffee. She sipped at the black liquid and closed her eyes. "Mmm, I can almost pretend it has flavor."

"If Starbucks ever opened a store in this building, there'd be a line filling the lobby within minutes."

"And we'd never get any work done because we'd be too jittery to concentrate." Theresa took another sip and looked at Liz, the levity disappearing from her tone. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," she automatically replied, shaking non-dairy creamer into her cup. When she looked up, she was only half-surprised by the skepticism written all over Theresa's face. She quirked up the corner of her mouth. "Well, as fine as someone can be who's not allowed to go home without supervision."

Theresa's brown eyes twinkled. "Considering the kind of supervision you've got, I don't think most women would complain."

Liz raised her eyebrows. A beat later, the other woman flushed and dropped her head. "I'm sorry, that's a dumb thing to say, isn't it? Of course it doesn't matter how hot your boyfriend is when all you want to do is go home."

She hid a smile behind her coffee cup. "Theoretically, at least." When the brunette looked up again, her eyebrows raised in query, Liz went on in a low voice, "Of course I'd like to be able to go back to my place if I want to. For one thing, it would mean we've caught Simeon. Thing is…" She shook her head. "I'm not entirely sure I want to."

The puzzled look stayed for a few more seconds, and then Theresa's face cleared. "Because of the way Simeon left you there."

Liz gave a tight nod. Even though he hadn't assaulted her, the threat had still very much been there - and it had been in her own bedroom. There was probably a therapy session or two in her future, but at the moment, it was a moot point. And maybe things would work themselves out in her head in the meantime. _Yeah, right._ She drew in a deep breath. "Besides, it's all irrelevant until we get the bad guys anyway."

"Any progress on that?" Theresa leaned back against the counter, somehow managing to fold her arms across her chest and still hold on to her Styrofoam cup.

"Still nothing from Marta Moreno, but the Ortega kids have spilled everything they know." She took a gulp of coffee. "Not that it's a whole lot. They confirmed that Simeon was expecting the Feds the other night, but they don't know how he knew. Nor do they know where the RPGs are, or where Simeon or Esteban are right now."

"Beyond the list of several dozen properties he owns that we don't have probable cause to get a warrant for."

"Right." Then Liz thought of something, and her face brightened. "But Colby and David are supposed to be back in half an hour after interviewing the head of the trucking company. That should give us something to go on about the cargo thefts." She shook her head. "Hard to believe that's how this all started."

"No kidding. That's kind of fallen to the back burner, hasn't it?" Theresa took a deeper draught of the coffee.

"I suppose it has." Liz thought for a moment. They were focusing all of their efforts on finding the missing RPGs, which certainly had to take priority. But in the meantime, the original objective of finding a security guard's killer and stopping a series of cargo thefts had fallen by the wayside. She tried to remember what Don had told them at their initial briefing, when the rest of the office was heading off to take down Hector Simeon - or so they all thought. "Did anyone ever connect Simeon to the owner of the U-Stor-It? It was an East L.A. gang but not the Salvadoreans, right?"

Theresa shrugged. "I don't know. I remember you and Colby mentioning that in your statements, but I don't know if anything's been done with it since."

Liz made a moue. She hadn't really expected Theresa to know, since her involvement with the case seemed somewhat haphazard. Come to think of it, that in itself was kind of strange. "Can I ask you something?" Liz said. When the other woman nodded, she went on, "What are you doing on this team, anyway?"

Theresa cocked her head to the side, her expression darkening a little. "Come again?"

Liz gave a quick roll of her eyes. "I don't mean anything by it. In case you haven't noticed, we're all a little edgy at the moment. If you're only going to be around for this case, I think it would help to know that so Don knows how to assign you."

The narrowing of Theresa's eyes lessened, and she leaned her head back a little. "Just a temp, I figure. I mean, I would think someone would have told me if it was going to be a permanent posting." She jerked her chin towards Liz. "What about you? It's kind of strange to have a team with an odd number, and I'm guessing that you're the newest member."

"You'd be right. On both counts." She gave a quick shrug. "I guess I'm here until I'm needed more urgently elsewhere." Truth be told, she was surprised she was still here after admitting on the record to dating Don.

Theresa regarded her for a moment. "How does that jive with, well…" She trailed off.

Liz raised an eyebrow. _You're gonna have to go ahead and ask it,_ she thought.

She got a knowing if rueful look in response. "How does that jive with being involved with the boss?"

Liz shrugged. "Up until a few nights ago, it wasn't anything more than a rumor as far as anyone else was concerned. Since a few nights ago, no one's said anything to me, and as far as I know, they haven't to Don either." _Since he's barely left my side, I don't know when they _could _have._

One of Theresa's fingers was tapping against her cup. "Can I ask you something?" she finally said.

Liz cocked her head to the side. "I suppose," she said, slightly warily.

"How long were you and Don working together before you started dating?"

_Aha_. This probably wasn't the last time she'd be asked that particular question. "Not that long," she replied. "But we'd known each other from Quantico, and I was only here on temporary assignment at the time." She came a few steps closer and leaned up against the counter next to Theresa, deciding it was time to act a little friendlier. Dropping her voice, she added with a sideways glance, "Although at that point, I don't think it's really accurate to call it 'dating.'"

There was a small smirk on the other woman's face that vanished as quickly as it had come. "Going out in public can be tricky when it's an office romance."

"Yeah." She drained the last of her coffee and tossed the cup in the garbage can. "That's why when I was assigned here more permanently it took me a few weeks to get around to telling him I was here."

"And then you picked up where you had left off?" There was a pause, and then Theresa shook her head and stood up. "I'm sorry, it's none of my business, really."

"No, it's okay." Liz was surprised to find that she didn't mind. After going public, so to speak, with the statement she'd given to Theresa a few nights ago, she didn't have to keep everything a secret anymore. Not that she was going to tell everyone in the office, but she felt there was something she could trust about the younger woman.

Besides, it wasn't like she had a whole lot of female friends to discuss men with.

So she said, "We took it easy for a while. It was different knowing I was here full time, you know? Not to mention that I ended up on his team, especially after the whole Colby thing. We've basically been taking it as it comes."

"And it's been going okay? I, um, couldn't help but notice you had a little disagreement out in the field, but that's okay now, right?"

"Yeah, it's fine." _More or less_, an inner voice piped up, but she ignored it. She turned sideways, resting one hip against the counter. "Why all the questions?" Liz asked, trying to keep her tone friendly.

A faint blush stained Theresa's cheeks as she dropped her head. "I guess you could say it's personal interest. What it's like being involved with someone you work closely with."

Liz felt the corners of her mouth turn up. "I hear you've been asking around about Colby."

"I plead the fifth," Theresa muttered, bringing her coffee cup up to hide her face.

Now she was out-and-out grinning. "All I can say is, it's not the kind of job that makes it easy to meet people. So you gotta take advantage of the chances you get." _Even if you don't think they're going to last forever_, she added in her head.

"I'll keep that in mind," Theresa replied. Then the tone of her voice changed. "How's Colby doing, being back in the office?" The question sounded casual, but Liz could read the deeper curiosity in her voice.

And while she felt capable of deciding what to share about her personal relationship, she wasn't about to speculate on someone else. "You'd have to ask him," she said, throwing a hint of suggestiveness into her tone. "How long are you here in L.A., anyway?"

Something flashed across the green eyes that Liz couldn't read before Theresa lowered her head back to her coffee. After a quick sip, she said, "I don't know. As long as I'm needed, I guess. However long that might be."

She gave a nod in reply. "All my mom ever wanted was for me to settle down with a nice guy and have a stable life. I don't think she's accepted yet that that's not going to happen."

Theresa smiled back. "Yeah, having to move across the country at a moment's notice makes it hard to have that picket fence and 2.5 kids, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, but who are we kidding? If we wanted that, we wouldn't have picked this job, right?"

The other woman's smile slipped a little, but then she said, "Right."

Liz looked at her more closely. "Why'd you join the FBI, anyway? If you don't mind me asking?"

Theresa looked up and across the bullpen through the glass walls of the break room. "Looks like that's a story that'll have to wait."

Following her gaze, Liz saw David and Colby emerging from the elevator with a third man in tow. She looked back and saw a spark in Theresa's eyes. "Okay, you're off the hook. For now."

She was sure she wasn't imagining the relief that washed over the other woman's face, even though it was gone in a split second. "Race you to interrogation," Theresa said lightly before heading for the door.

Liz watched her go, her eyes narrowing as she thought about that last exchange. Then she saw a swift grin cross Colby's face when he caught sight of Theresa, and her own face softened into a smile. Maybe something good would actually come out of this whole mess.


	15. This Hard Land

oooooooooooooooo

Chapter 3: This Hard Land

Colby: I haven't had a serious date in, like, two years.  
Don: What, two years?  
Colby: Well, L.A.'s tough, man, even when you're not working undercover with the Chinese.  
-"Primacy"

The elevator doors opened, and David motioned for Colby and their suspect to go first. He followed, scanning across the bullpen and looking for Don. At first, the only two people he saw were Liz and Theresa, both emerging from the break room. He was pretty sure he wasn't imagining the smile that flashed across the younger woman's face when her eyes lit on Colby, and David had to duck his head to hide a smile of his own. Maybe his partner would get to do some of that "special investigating" he'd been talking about in the car.

"I'll get Don," he said out loud. "You get set up in one of the conference rooms." Properly speaking, it would be in an interrogation room, but the man they were bringing in had been cooperative so far; there was no need to scare him off.

He strode through the cubicle maze until he got to their team's area. "Hey, Don," he called, then raised a hand in apology when he saw the other man was on the phone. He waited around the corner until the conversation ended, overhearing a few words about property records.

Then Don hung up and turned around in his chair. "What is it?"

David jerked his thumb back towards the room where Colby and their guest were. "We brought in the head of the trucking company, and you're going to want to hear what he has to say."

"Yeah?" Don rose from his seat and grabbed his coffee mug in one fluid motion. "Let's go."

A moment later, the two of them had joined Colby and their suspect in the glass-walled "conference room". He was pretty sure Liz and Theresa were headed for the other side of the one-way glass. When they were all seated, he said, "Mr. Lytle, this is Special Agent Don Eppes. We're going to need you to tell him everything you've already said to us."

Jim Lytle was a man in his late 40s who was starting to lose the battle with his waistline and his hairline. He leaned his elbows on the table and rubbed his hands over his face. "Okay," he said as if preparing himself. He looked over at Don. "You the boss?"

"That's right," Don replied. "I'm also the guy you've talked to twice before when you said you didn't know anything about how three cases of RPGs got into a container hauled by your company."

"And I still don't." The older man laid his hands flat on the table. "Six months ago, one of my employees came to me and made a suggestion about starting up a side business, as he called it. Once I figured out he was talking about smuggling, I fired his ass on the spot. I don't do that sort of thing."

David exchanged a quick glance with Colby, who quickly rolled his eyes. "Then what?" he prompted.

Lytle drummed one hand on the tabletop. "A week later, the first shipment was stolen. Two weeks later, another. It took a little while, but I finally figured it wasn't a coincidence."

"Why didn't you contact the authorities?" Don asked mildly.

The other man's eyes shot over to his. "I did," he said pointedly. "Do you know how many containers are stolen in the Inland Empire every year? Half a billion dollars' worth. Port security is focused on terrorism, so it all trickles down to the local cops. Until someone gets killed, it's not a big deal."

"But someone did get killed," Colby reminded him.

Lytle let out a sigh. "Yeah, he did. After the third theft, I hired a guard. Things were fine for a little while. Then there was another hijacking. The second guard didn't last a week." His gaze turned darker. "Apparently that finally got someone's attention."

David cleared his throat. "Do you know how to get in touch with your former employee?"

"Madreno? Nah, I tried, but the phone number was disconnected."

"We called it in, Don." Colby looked across the table at their boss. "John Madreno, age thirty, recent resident of Mira Loma, no priors. We got a picture from his personnel files, and they're working it up into an APB right now."

"How long had he worked for you?" Don asked Lytle. He was sitting with his closed hand in front of his mouth, thumb resting between his parted lips, watching the CEO like a hawk.

"Six months. There's a lot of turnover, guys moving from one company to another, but I didn't think there was anything fishy about him." He shrugged. "Guess I was wrong."

This was the point in the story where David had started to ask some tougher questions. His gaze flickered between Don and Colby, curious as to what would happen next. A second later, Don said, "So, Mr. Lytle, why target your company? Did this Madreno want to get back at you for firing him?"

Colby smirked at David, and he could almost read his partner's thoughts. That was the same question he had asked. Lytle was going to think they had planned this.

The older man's eyes dropped to the tabletop, and he scratched its surface with his thumbnail. "Could be."

"Okay. What was his job?"

Lytle paused. "Scheduling. He knew what trucks were taking what routes, who the drivers were, what time of day they were coming, things like that. That's why I figured it was him."

Don held his hand out in front of him, palm up. "What, and you didn't change your scheduling once the thefts started?"

Lytle's eyes shifted back and forth, and David exchanged another glance with his partner. Same body language as in the man's office, even though he'd already confessed. Being in the FBI office always made it more real. He looked back at the CEO in time to hear him say, "We did as much as we could, but we're constrained by when the ships come in, you know?"

"And _where _the ships come in," Colby said pointedly.

Lytle pursed his lips. "Yeah," he said, his eyes still focused downward.

"_Everything _you told us, Mr. Lytle." David leaned forward in his seat, fixing the other man with his gaze. When he looked up, David raised his eyebrows and tilted his head forward. Every time this guy told his story was an opportunity for another detail to slip out that could get them closer to their objective.

He sighed. "We could change the routes and the times a little, but not a whole lot. Madreno knew that, and I'm sure he's been taking advantage of it."

Now Don was looking back and forth between David and Colby, and his eyes were narrowing. David recognized the signs of impending impatience, so he prompted, "And why couldn't you change your routes?"

Lytle folded his hands in front of him, the overhead lights gleaming off the gold band on his left hand. "The arrival times aren't flexible enough."

David quickly looked at Don and then gave Colby a slight nod. The younger agent supplied, "Apparently the port down in Tijuana has been siphoning traffic away from L.A./Long Beach. Mexican Customs is a little faster, and if the cargo takes an inland route, there's a border crossing where the lines aren't too long."

"And the inspection isn't too thorough," David filled in, his tone slightly harder. "At least at certain times of the day."

"Okay. Okay, I get it." Don was regarding their suspect with a little less friendly attitude. "So you have to wait until the customs agents who can be bribed are on duty, which means you can't adjust your transit times."

Lytle looked up, his face pale. "I swear, there's no smuggling going on. Nothing gets in my containers that isn't supposed to be there. I just need the stuff to move faster. Time is _everything _in shipping, and for a little guy like me, if I can move faster than the big guys, I have a chance to stay in business."

"I think you lost that chance, Mr. Lytle." Don's voice was cold. "Because something definitely got in your containers that wasn't supposed to be there."

"I know." Lytle laid his hands on the table, palms up, and David noticed for the first time the calluses on the fingertips. This was a man who worked hard, who had started his own business and built it up into something, but not without a shortcut or two along the way. He might well still be paying to have his goods "fast-tracked" across the border if someone hadn't slipped a few crates of RPGs inside. "And I'll do whatever I can to help you figure out how those weapons got there." His expression turned pleading. "But I swear, I had nothing to do with it."

David watched as Don stared at the man for another few seconds. "All right," he finally said, rising from his chair. "We'll be back."

The three agents left the room and rounded the corner. Don started, "So what do you figure, this Madreno guy was already smuggling, tried to bring the boss in on it to make it easier, and got fired for his trouble?" They nodded, and he went on, "Now he's still sneaking stuff in even though he doesn't work there?"

"It could have already been set up," David answered. "Certain ships, certain days of the week. His supplier doesn't even have to know he was fired."

"Lytle told us he doesn't get all of his cargo through the Mexican route, although all of the stolen containers have come that way, right?" Colby looked at him for confirmation, and David gave a quick nod. "He has another shipment coming in this afternoon, one tonight, and two tomorrow."

"Through Mexico?" When David nodded, Don rubbed his hand over his jaw. "Can we find out who the Customs agent is?"

"Apparently it's a friend of a friend kind of thing, but we'll work on it," Colby replied.

"Probably not in time," Don replied wearily. "How many drivers does he have?"

"Uh…" David reached for the notebook in his pocket, but Colby beat him to it. "Sixteen. Most of them have been with him a couple of years. All of the ones who have been hijacked have quit, so it's unlikely they're involved."

"Although a couple of them did stick around to get hijacked a second time," David added.

"Okay, so we could ride along with them, right?" Don asked.

He shared a quick look with his partner and shrugged. "As long as they know how to drive a semi, yeah."

"Guess that leaves us out," Colby muttered, looking slightly disappointed.

"Don't tell me you're harboring a secret desire to be a trucker, Granger," he shot back, eyebrows raised.

Colby grinned. "I don't know: the open road, seeing the country, seeing the women in the next lane in bikini tops…"

"C'mon, man, this is L.A. There's no such thing as an open road." David suddenly realized that Don was eyeing the two of them very carefully. "What?" he asked, feeling self-conscious.

Don didn't say anything, just looked back and forth, a knowing look in his eyes and a faint grin on his face. Then he clapped each of them on the shoulder. "Okay, David, you take care of booking Mr. Lytle. Colby, you're looking for John Madreno. I'm going to get another team set up for these upcoming shipments, and we're going to stop this at the source."

David gave him a brisk nod. As Don turned away, he opened his mouth to say something else, but then stopped. Colby was giving him a curious look, but he shook his head. Anything he wanted to say to their boss about white sedans and keeping a close eye on his partner was probably best done out of range of said partner. There was no reason to think that the Chinese were giving up just because Colby had successfully gotten away once. But for now, David intended to stick like glue to the other man.

Now that he'd gotten his best friend back, he wasn't about to let anything happen to him.

oooooooooooooooooo

Two hours later, Don was still feeling pretty good. He'd followed Megan's advice and delegated some of the work, calling on a second team to take charge of substituting drivers for the scheduled shipments. With any luck, they'd soon have the cargo thefts solved, maybe even identifying the pipeline back to where the smuggled weapons had come from.

Of course, that still left Hector Simeon, Luis Esteban, and thirty-some rocket-propelled grenades to find. He let out a sigh. One thing at a time.

Leaning back in his chair, he mentally ran through his team's whereabouts. Liz was working with Charlie and Megan on cracking Joseph Beachy's datebook code; Colby was tracking down the connection between the trucking company and the stolen cargo; and David had popped by a few minutes ago to say he had finished booking Jim Lytle and was taking a lunch break. Don looked at his watch. He should be eating something himself. But the thought of going all the way downstairs to the cafeteria, grabbing some questionable-looking sandwich and coming all the way back up was not inspiring. He opened his lower desk drawer and spied a couple of energy bars. That would have to do.

"Agent Eppes?"

He looked up to see Theresa Pennington standing in the aisle. "Yes?"

She tucked a stray piece of hair behind one ear and said, "Liz suggested I come by and see what's on the top of the priority list right now."

Looking at her, Don realized how much she reminded him of some of the recruits he'd taught at Quantico: eager to dive into a problem and do whatever they could to solve it. How long had Megan said she'd been out of the Academy? Four years? Not long enough to get cynical, he figured. "How are you at interrogation, Pennington?"

She shrugged one shoulder. "Can't say it's my strong point."

"No?" Don leaned back in his chair. "What's your specialty then?" he asked. He hadn't exactly had the time to take a detailed look through her personnel folder yet. Besides, he liked hearing an agent's estimation of their own skills: it told him a lot about their true strengths and weaknesses.

Theresa's eyes briefly slid away before meeting his again. "I'm good in the field, though I suck at anything that involves keeping still for long periods of time. Pretty good with picking out patterns in conversation, numbers, things like that. Probably comes from knowing languages."

That was right, Colby had told him how quickly she identified part of Beachy's papers as being zip codes. "What languages?" he asked out of curiosity, trying to figure out what task to hand off to her.

"Fluent in Spanish, plus some of the cognates like French and Italian," she said. "And passable in Russian and Arabic."

Don's eyebrows rose as he started re-estimating the woman in front of him. "Those aren't exactly closely related."

The corner of her mouth quirked up. "Have I mentioned I have a short attention span?"

"What, too many times changing your major in college?" Don rose to his feet, sure now of what to assign her, already reaching for the relevant folder.

"No, I spent a few years at Monterey." Theresa spoke casually, but he still looked sharply at her. The Defense Language Institute in Monterey, CA, was where experts in the military, intelligence, and anti-terrorism communities went to learn foreign languages. Most came in and out with fluency in one language, not years' worth of study. Most didn't then go work for a domestic agency like the FBI.

In answer to his unspoken question, she gave another of her easy shrugs. "I thought I was going to go down a different career path."

_I guess so_, he thought. Out loud he said, "Well, lucky for us." She cocked her head to the side, and he went on, lifting the folder in his hand, "Marta Luz Moreno. The woman you helped apprehend the other night." _When we were on our not-so-wild goose chase._ "She still hasn't said much to us. Maybe a fresh approach will help with someone who knows her language."

Theresa took the folder from his hand and quickly rifled through it. "She knows where the RPGs came from."

"And that's what we need to find out."

She gave him a brisk nod. "I'll see what I can do."

Don followed her into the interrogation room, where the Salvadorean woman sat with her cuffed hands on the table. She looked up as they came in, fear and resignation flickering across her face, followed by curiosity as she noticed Theresa. The information they had on her said she was in her mid-20s, but the lines on her face and the rough condition of her hands made her look much older. Don had been in here a couple of times already, on his own and with Liz. He'd already established himself as the glowering senior agent, so he took a chair against the wall and let Theresa lead the way.

She started off gently, and even if Don couldn't make out all of the words, the tone of her voice was clear. Marta didn't respond until Theresa closed the folder and pushed it to the side, asking something about the other woman's family. Then she visibly started, leaning back in her chair as if to distance herself from a threat, her dark brown eyes going wide. Theresa reached forward with a hand and murmured something reassuring, but the other woman's frightened eyes kept flickering to Don. He kept his face blank, trying not to look threatening, but it didn't seem to matter. They'd been down this dead end before, their suspect clamming up no matter what strategies they tried. He'd finally figured it was fear rather than defiance that was keeping her silent, but for many reasons, that was harder to work around.

Marta said something quietly, and Theresa's head jerked up. "_¿En El Salvador?_" she asked. When she got a short nod in reply, she went on, "_¿Y cuanto tiempo?_"

All Don could make out in the reply was "Simeon," but it was enough to make him lean forward in his seat. The movement caught Marta's attention, and she abruptly dropped her head to her chest and stopped speaking. He let out a frustrated sigh.

"Agent Eppes?" Theresa's voice was soft but insistent. "I think maybe I should talk to her alone."

Don hesitated only a moment before nodding and rising from his chair. He shut the door behind him and walked around to the observation room. Somehow, he wasn't surprised to find Colby watching the scene. He joined him in leaning against the back wall. "You find Madreno?" he asked casually.

Colby shook his head, folding his muscular arms across his chest. "Got an APB out; called his former landlord and got no forwarding address or friends to contact. No credit cards used since he was fired. David's working on the train and plane records to see if he's left town."

Don opened his mouth to ask what he was doing here instead of helping, then shut it again. The younger agent looked exhausted, and a few minutes off would probably help rather than hinder. But as he watched Colby watching Theresa, he noticed the clench of his jaw and the tight lines around his eyes. Something was bothering Colby, but from the way his eyes kept shifting around the room, Don didn't think it was the conversation that Theresa was coaxing out of their suspect.

Then with a jolt, he realized that this was the same room where Colby had been interrogated, both upon his initial arrest and in later questioning. Don had sat in front of these monitors and replayed the tape so many times he later heard it in his sleep. He could only imagine how many times Colby had relived the scene, sitting in federal prison and waiting for the chance to break out with Dwayne and make the whole charade worthwhile, while everyone he knew and trusted thought he had turned against them. His throat tightened for a moment. "You okay?" he asked quietly.

Colby's head whipped around, and the startled look that crossed his face told the real story, no matter that he opened his mouth to say, "Yeah, I'm fine." Then his eyes slid away to the other side of the one-way glass, the tension remaining across the line of his shoulders.

Don nibbled on his lower lip. He'd been thrilled a few hours ago to see signs of the return of easy camaraderie between Colby and David, but there were always reminders that everything wasn't back to normal. It would take a while for all of them to move on, longest of all for the man standing next to him. "What's she saying?" he finally asked, nodding towards the Salvadorean woman.

He got a quick, unreadable look before Colby replied, "She came to the U.S. a couple of years ago, following her brother. Both of them were smuggled across the border by coyotes who work for Simeon." He paused, and the corners of his mouth tightened in frustration. "Sorry, she's using some words I'm not familiar with."

Theresa didn't seem to be having any problem, judging from her lengthy reply. After a moment, Marta folded her hands in front of her and said softly, "_Dos hijos y una hija._"

"Two boys and a girl?" Don asked, sure that he remembered that much from the first level of Berlitz tapes.

Colby nodded. "Her kids. They're still in El Salvador." He slumped against the wall and leaned his head back, his face suddenly looking weary. "That's why she hasn't been saying anything, Don. She's the only one who knows how to contact the suppliers, but Simeon knows where her kids are. She was smart enough to know that as long as she didn't tell him where the RPGs came from, her kids would stay alive. But if he can make that connection without her…"

An ominous silence fell. Then Don said quietly, "So the longer she's in here, the longer Simeon has to find the suppliers as well."

A grim nod was his only reply.

Don pushed himself off the wall and took a step forward, leaning his hands on the table with the TV monitors and staring at the two women on the other side of the glass. Marta had apparently decided that telling them everything was her best hope at this point. A torrent of Spanish poured forth, way too fast for him to follow. Theresa's fingers occasionally twitched, like she wanted to be writing this down, but she would know that it was all being recorded and that they couldn't afford Marta clamming up again.

He looked back over his shoulder at Colby and got an impatient nod.

"Give me a sec," the junior agent said, his eyes darting back and forth between the two women. Then he let out a big sigh. "I can't follow all the names and places, but it sounds like she knows some guys from El Salvador and thought she could make a good impression on her new boss by getting him a pipeline to some heavier-duty weapons than he was used to dealing with."

"Simeon," Don said.

"Right. By the time she realized he wasn't going to play nice, it was too late."

Don tapped his fingers against the tabletop. And of course, she couldn't go to the authorities because she was here illegally, on top of the fear of herself or her children disappearing. "You know, for someone who says she's not great at interrogating, Pennington's pretty damn good. We've been trying to get something out of this woman for days, and here she waltzes in and gets her to open up like nothing."

"Well, she's pretty easy to talk to." Don turned to look at Colby and was amused by the faint blush that started to spread over the younger agent's face. "I mean, she's the one I gave my statement to, you know. Didn't hurt at all."

"Uh huh." A teasing comment sprang to mind, but he closed his mouth against it. If anyone deserved a little enjoyment out of life right now, it was Colby Granger.

Then again, what marked a return to normalcy better than a jibe or two? So Don said, "I guess if Megan wasn't already dating Larry, we could pair her off with David and then we'd all be set."

Colby blinked, and then his face flushed slightly darker. He held his hands up in front of him. "Don, I don't - I mean, I haven't - "

"Relax, Granger." He shot him a grin. "Just keep it low-key, huh?"

The deer-in-the-headlights look was not something Don was used to seeing on the junior agent's face. For some reason, it amused him even more.

He opened his mouth to add something when the door flung open and Theresa bounded into the room. "So, did you get that?" she asked.

Don straightened up and quickly looked away from Colby. The other man cleared his throat and said somewhat sheepishly, "We, uh, got it up to the point where she was talking about Simeon, and then we got sidetracked."

Apparently not noticing the reddish tinge on the taller agent's face, Theresa said, "Well, I'll have to watch the tape to get all the details, but she laid out names, places, and dollar amounts. Basically everything we need."

Don felt excitement rising up in him. "Then we can cross-check that with what Lytle told us and trace the weapons back to their source."

Theresa nodded. Then the lines around her mouth grew tight. "There's more. Although she doesn't know who was buying the weapons, she said they wanted one other thing as part of the deal. _La mujer_." She jerked her head to the side, indicating the view Marta Moreno would have had from the interrogation room.

Across the bullpen, he could see Liz standing in the war room, examining the papers tacked up to the bulletin board. She paused to say something to Megan and Charlie, both of whom looked up from where they were seated at the large table. Then Liz turned back to the board, apparently unaware of three sets of eyes on her.

Don's hands curled into fists. It was bad enough that Hector Simeon had kidnapped Liz. But to think of her as _payment_…it was enough to make him see red. He took a deep breath, aware of Colby and Theresa watching him. "Well, that's not going to happen," he said through clenched teeth.

"You got that right," Colby replied determinedly. He nodded at Theresa. "Let's go track 'em down."

Her eyes lit up. "You bet."

They turned to go, and Don called out, "Hey, Pennington." She and Colby both paused mid-stride and she looked back over her shoulder. He gave her a nod. "Good job."

Theresa flashed him a quick smile. "Thanks." Then Colby's hand went to her lower back and he escorted her out.

Don turned back to look at Marta Moreno, who was still staring at the blank wall across the room. Her expression was resigned, as if she had thrown the dice and now could only wait. He felt a little bad for her, but then again, no one had forced her to try and get the rocket-propelled grenades into Simeon's hands. He rubbed a hand over his face. The pieces were finally fitting into place. Hopefully it wouldn't take much longer before Liz was safe and the weapons were secured.

He hoped it didn't make him a bad FBI agent for thinking of it in exactly that order. 


	16. The Price You Pay

oooooooooooooooo

Chapter 4: The Price You Pay

Alan: Come on, you've got to allow yourself a few mistakes in life.  
Don: Yeah, well, people die that way.  
-"Trust Metric"

Megan looked up from the laptop in front of her and rubbed her eyes. It was decision time: grab a candy bar from the vending machine and plow on ahead, or break for dinner and count on a long night? The clock on the wall read twenty after six; she'd slipped upstairs to deliver her message to A.D. Wright an hour and a half ago, and it had taken her a few minutes to get her head back on straight after refraining from telling the man exactly what she thought of his request to report on her team. He'd accepted her observations without comment, although the look in his eyes had been slightly apologetic. Maybe she and her team weren't the only people under pressure right now.

"How are you doing?" Amita asked from her seat at the other end of the conference table.

Megan sat back and eyed the pile of papers next to the keyboard. "About halfway done."

Amita grimaced. "Sorry."

"Not your fault." Megan sighed and sat up straighter. "I should be able to get into the guy's head from the notes he left."

"It's not like they're lecture notes," Amita replied. "They aren't supposed to mean anything to anyone but him."

"I know." The neat columns of numbers and letters on the pages spoke of someone who was methodical, careful, and unable to leave things to chance. It matched with the description of Joseph Beachy as someone who went out on the jobs that he arranged to see for himself that things were being done right.

So what she still couldn't figure out was why he had allowed Simeon to let Liz go. If Marta Moreno was right, and Liz had been part of the payment for the RPGs, Simeon might have figured that without Marta as a contact to the suppliers, there was no way they could demand their payment and that it would be too much trouble to hold an FBI agent for an undetermined time period. But that didn't jive with the cautious man that the "datebook" presented. She frowned, trying to remember something from Liz's statement that had bothered her ever since she listened to the recording a couple of nights ago, something about their customer being unhappy if Liz was brought to them. What was that supposed to mean?

Megan shook her head and let out an "Argh!" When Amita looked up, startled, she gave a swift smile in apology. "Sorry. There's too many things I'm trying to keep hold of at once, you know?" She reached out with one hand and grasped at empty air. "As soon as I remember one thing, something else slips away."

"Then perhaps a brief respite is in order."

The familiar voice came from the doorway behind her, and Megan whirled around so quickly the swivel chair smacked into the table. "Larry?"

He was standing in the doorway, his trademark gentle smile on his face. "A small member of the class Aves told me you might be in need of a distraction."

The translation from Larry-speak took her less time than it used to, and she wondered if it meant she was getting smarter or weirder. "And who might that little bird be?" she asked, unable to stop a smile from curling her lips despite her foul mood.

He gave a slight shrug and stepped forward. "I'm not going to name names."

_No doubt a curly-headed blackbird_, Megan thought, her eyes narrowing as she recalled Charlie stepping out of the war room about an hour ago and making a call out in the bullpen. He'd since disappeared to grab some dinner, or so he said. But as he came up behind Larry, even though his arms were full of takeout bags, she had a sneaking suspicion he'd driven farther than the Chinese place down the street. "Charlie," she said warningly.

His face beamed with innocence. "Orange chicken or beef and broccoli?" he asked.

"Neither, if you please," Larry replied, turning sideways in the doorway so Charlie could pass. "Some of us have other arrangements."

Megan tilted her head to the side. "You came all the way down here and you're not staying for dinner?"

"And neither are you," he replied firmly.

She shook her head. "Larry, I've got to get through this tonight."

"Then we'll return so you can finish. Right now, I have special dispensation to make sure you take a break."

Beyond Larry, she could see Don standing up in his cubicle, looking their way. When he noticed her eyes on him, he made a waving gesture towards the elevators. _Go on_, he mouthed.

Megan sat back and folded her arms over her chest. "I really appreciate the thought, but I can't spare the time."

"In case you haven't noticed," Charlie said, pulling white cardboard containers out of the plastic bags and setting them on the table, "none of the rest of your team is around. They're all eating dinner or resting. Or about to," he added under his breath, looking across the bullpen at his brother. Then he gave her a friendly smile, eyes glimmering with mischief. "Sorry, but you're outnumbered."

"Charlie." The tone of her voice said she was losing the battle.

And then Larry piled on the guilt, and she knew she was done. "I'll have you back here by eight, Megan, with plenty of time to finish your task this evening." He paused and cleared his throat. "It would be nice to spend a few moments with you now that I'm here."

She rolled her eyes and stood up. "Okay, fine."

An under-the-breath "hurray" came from Charlie's direction, but when she turned sharply towards him, all she saw was the top of his head as he opened containers of food.

"We'll be here when you get back," Amita said. "Go on and clear your head."

Megan followed Larry out of the war room and down the hall to the elevators. "Do you have anywhere in mind, or are we walking to the closest restaurant that's open?"

"I was thinking the Thai establishment next to your apartment would do quite nicely. The monks make delicious food, but the tranquility of their lifestyle appears to extend to their spice cabinet."

_You would think after all this time I would stop cracking up when he talks like that_, she thought as a giggle escaped her lips. _ Then again, I hope I never do_. "Okay, as long as we order three dishes so I have the leftovers."

Larry spread his hands wide and managed to maneuver one around her back as the elevator arrived. "Whatever you say, my dear."

They went down to the parking garage in silence, though not without a more private means of greeting than they had been able to exchange up in the office. Megan's cheeks were slightly flushed when the doors opened on the concrete ramps. "I'm sorry I haven't been up to see you," she said, digging in her pocket for her car keys. "Things have been a bit overwhelming here right now."

"I understand." Larry cleared his throat. "Charlie's been struggling as well, so I have an idea of the difficulties of the case."

"Well, whatever you said to him worked, because he's thrown himself back into things like he never left." She put a hand on his arm as they reached the car. "Thank you."

He gave a small smile and looked away. She knew that he didn't like to be thanked for what seemed like obvious things to do: obvious to him, perhaps, if not to the average person.

They climbed inside the silver Acura and settled into the seats. Megan was glad to have her car back, even if the bullet holes had yet to be repaired. Forensics had gotten what they could from it in the initial round, and given that she parked it in the garage every day, they knew where to get a hold of it if needed. She grimaced, thinking of the wild ride with Colby the other night. The poor guy sure didn't need to be chased down by the Chinese after everything he'd already been through. She hoped that once this case was resolved, they could make sure that Colby wouldn't have to keep watching his back.

"Are you making progress?" Larry asked as she started the car.

"Some." She pulled the car out of its space and started the slow, winding spiral up and out of the garage. "There's basically three parts to the case, and we're homing in on one."

"That's good to hear. And I trust there have been no more escapades like the other night?"

His voice was slightly reproachful, and she sighed. _No wonder he hadn't said anything about the bullet holes._ "No, nothing on that front."

"Then what's troubling you, Megan?" She shot him a quick look, and he went on, "I know that the case is putting pressure on all of you, but you seem more distant than is your wont."

"Hold on." Megan fumbled for the key card and rolled down the window. When they'd passed through the gate and she'd tucked the card away again, she said, "You can't tell anyone I said this, okay?" She looked over at him and got a serious nod in reply. "A.D. Wright asked me this morning to let him know how the rest of my team was doing."

"I'm not sure I follow," Larry replied.

She let out a sigh and pulled up to the edge of the street, waiting for the traffic to clear. "He wanted to know how everyone is coping with what happened the other night, how they're interacting, what kinds of difficulties they're having." She bit her lip. "Larry, he wanted me to profile my own team."

"Oh." It might have been a short word, but it carried a wealth of meaning. "And what did you say?"

"I said I wasn't comfortable with what he was asking me to do." There was a break in the traffic, and she pulled out onto the street. "Not that that's been a valid excuse before," she added under her breath.

"Your trips to Washington."

A short nod was her only reply. It occurred to her that she ought to wonder how Larry had known about the drive from the airport with Colby, but she wouldn't have to go much farther than the CalSci math department for that. Same with her most recent flight to DC, she was sure.

There was silence for a moment. Then Larry said, "Megan, I hope you understand that my reticence doesn't indicate lack of interest on my part. I simply haven't developed a sense of what is and isn't appropriate to ask, or what you can and can't divulge." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him spread his hands wide, palms up. "I don't want you to feel pressured to answer questions if it's inappropriate."

Megan thought about that for a moment as they came to a stop at a traffic light. "Well, now I feel like a total idiot," she finally said.

When she turned her head, she saw Larry's eyes going wide with dismay. "Why?" he asked, concerned.

The corner of her mouth turned up. "You'd think someone who's supposed to be a behavioral specialist would have figured that out. Instead, I've been feeling a little resentful that you don't seem to show much interest in what I do every day."

"Oh, Megan." He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. "Don't you know by now that I'm interested in everything about you?"

Her face softened into a smile. "Some day I'll take the time to delve into my own insecurities," she said lightly, reaching up to pat his hand. "In the meantime, how about no shop talk for the next hour?" she said.

Larry looked at the dashboard clock. "No mention of the FBI until 7:32 P.M. Agreed." His fingers intertwined with hers, and when the light changed, she kept driving with only one hand.

Maybe Charlie had been right: a little time away from the office was turning out to be a wonderful idea.

oooooooooooooooo

Don wasn't entirely sure that it was the best use of resources to send Megan away at the moment, but after being thrown for a loop this morning with the request to report back on the team, she probably needed the break. He'd noticed her quietly disappear not long before five o'clock and return with a downcast look on her face. It hadn't taken much persuading to get Charlie to make a run up to Altadena and pluck Larry out of his monastery.

He remembered his assessment of Megan to Bradford what seemed like a lifetime ago. He'd called her smart and tough and Bradford had twisted it around into concern that she was overly compassionate. Of course, that was before her forced leave to Washington and whatever it had entailed. He wondered now if he shouldn't be worrying about her the same way he had about David: that one day, something would just be too much for her and she'd quit. In the meantime, whatever he could do to keep her going - to keep all of them going - was worth it.

Don entered the war room in time to see Charlie dishing out the last of the Chinese food onto a paper plate, scraping the carton clean. "Gee, thanks, guys."

"No, this is for you." Charlie pushed the plate towards him. "Come on and have a seat."

He looked at his watch. "Yeah, okay. I can eat while you fill me in, all right?"

"Give us five more minutes," Amita said from the other edge of the table. A plate of food sat near her elbow, barely touched.

"Sure thing." Don dug into the food, only then realizing how hungry he was. Had he even had lunch? Somewhere between watching Theresa interrogate the Salvadorean woman and following up on the team that was replacing the truck drivers tonight in hopes of stopping the cargo thefts at the source, he'd managed to skip a meal. He cast a wistful glance at the empty containers Charlie was tossing in the trash. _So much for seconds. That's what you get for staying at your desk too long, Eppes._

He'd just taken a mouthful of orange chicken when Colby and Theresa appeared in the doorway. "Hey, Don, good news," Colby said.

_About time_, he thought, but all he could do was wave them in. Apparently Colby understood the unspoken command to continue, for he said, "We've been in touch with Customs and told them what Jim Lytle said about the containers. They're gonna put some extra men on and see if they can figure out who's letting stuff get by without inspection."

Next to him, Theresa put her hands on her hips. "Don't you think he might want to know the other thing first?"

Colby looked down at her. "Geez, hold on, I'm getting there."

Don swallowed the last of the chicken and said, "What other thing?"

Colby made a sweeping "after you" gesture, and Theresa let out a huff of breath. "We found John Madreno," she said to Don. "They're booking him right now."

"Who's that?" Charlie asked.

"The guy who knows which cargo shipments to hide RPGs in," Don tossed over his shoulder. "What has he said?"

"Nothing so far, but we haven't really started talking yet." The tight grin that accompanied Colby's words made it clear what kind of "talking" he meant.

"All right, that's good." Don leaned back in the chair. Finally, things were starting to come together. "You guys eat?"

"Yeah, we, uh, stopped on the way back. From picking up Moreno."

He looked back and forth between the two of them, wondering why Colby was rubbing the back of his neck and why Theresa was carefully not looking at anyone in the room. But before he could say anything, Amita burst out, "Yes!" Everyone turned to look at her, and she flushed a little. "Sorry. The analysis is done, if you're ready," she said, looking up at Charlie.

"Oh, great!" The mathematician came around the table and looked over her shoulder.

Don watched Charlie's eyes track back and forth as he studied the laptop screen. After a few seconds, impatience got the better of him, and he said, "Got anything you want to share with the rest of the class?"

Charlie shot him a look from under his eyebrows that might have struck terror into the heart of an undergraduate, but only made Don grin. "One second, please," he said, reaching over Amita's shoulder to tap the trackpad a few times. "Okay, great," he finally said, straightening up and moving to the front of the room. He toggled a switch on the projector, and the contents of Amita's monitor flashed up on the white screen. "Ready?"

"For what?" Colby asked, reaching out to snag a chair and dropping his six-foot frame into it.

"All the secrets of Joseph Beachy's mind," Charlie said dramatically, gesturing towards the screen.

"Or at least a good start," Amita added. "We've been going over the papers that the two of you found in his apartment the other night, and we're most of the way towards cracking his code."

Don sat up straighter. "All right! What've you got?"

As Charlie started speaking, Don noticed Colby lean over to whisper something in Theresa's ear. He had no idea what it was, but the fact that her features remained expressionless while her eyes danced with amusement was to her credit. "Okay, so besides the date, each entry has six numbers, right?" the mathematician said. "That seems to refer to the two parties involved in the deal Beachy is brokering, three digits for each. We've isolated 815 as the digits corresponding to Hector Simeon, and 312 as the series for the RPG buyers."

"Do those digits show up elsewhere?" Don quickly asked.

"Yes, they do," Amita said, tapping at her laptop.

"It's okay, we'll get to that later," Charlie said. "Now, there's also a series of six letters for each entry, and those have been tougher to figure out. We ended up having to use divide and marriage before conquest."

Colby leaned forward slightly as he opened his mouth, but at a look from Don he closed it again without a word.

Oblivious, Charlie went on, "It's an algorithm that breaks everything down into small pieces before putting some of the pieces together to solve subproblems. From that, we can work our way back up to the big problem."

"Which is figuring out where the RPGs are," Don said impatiently.

Charlie shot him a quick glance. "Actually, so far it's just been figuring out what the codes mean."

"Okay, so what've you got?" Don was starting to feel like he was repeating himself, something he really hated to do.

"Well, we started with the entry from three days ago to establish the codes connected to the storage facility in Fontana. We found the same set of numbers a week earlier, meaning the same two players were involved, and then again with today's date."

"Today?" Don leaned forward. "What's going down today?"

"Or what was supposed to go down today," Colby said. At a quick look from Don, he waved a hand and said, "Well, since Beachy's dead…"

He looked back at Charlie. "Is today when the weapons were supposed to be delivered?"

"We think so. Maybe." Charlie nodded at Amita, and a different table shot up on the screen. "In the six-letter combinations, we're pretty sure that AXL stands for a delivery of something; it always seems to come towards the end of any set of interactions between two players. Monday's code included an AXL, and so does today's."

Theresa broke in for the first time. "But they didn't deliver the weapons on Monday, they took them."

"That might not have been the original plan," Don said. "I mean, I'd like to think that _something _we did the other night made a difference to these guys."

"Could be," Charlie said. "At any rate, there appear to be two different items that are being delivered; one must be the RPGs, and one must be something else."

"Or someone else." Colby spoke reluctantly. "The weapons weren't all that was taken from the warehouse."

Don inhaled sharply. According to what Marta Moreno had said, Liz was part of Beachy's deal. He stared at the screen for a moment, battling back the memory of those desperate hours when she was gone. What if she was supposed to be 'delivered' on Monday, and the RPG delivery was scheduled for today? Then he firmly shook his head. "They couldn't have known we were going to be there. _I_ didn't know we were going to be there until that day, and Liz was only there because Megan was in Washington. It couldn't have been in Beachy's schedule."

"Okay, so we assume the first code refers to the RPGs and they had to change their plans when we showed up." Colby leaned forward. "What's that second delivery, and where's it taking place?"

"That's the strange thing." Amita said. "The last five digits are the key to the location, like you noticed. " She nodded at Theresa. "Nine double-oh two six is a residential area; it's the Silver Lake and Echo Park neighborhoods of Los Angeles. What's weird is that the action code is reversed; it's not Simeon's men who are taking the action, it's the buyers. It's like Simeon was providing them access to something that they had to go and pick up themselves."

Don's stomach dropped. "What if it's where they're planning to use the RPGs?" An area that close to downtown would offer a myriad of targets for a rocket-propelled grenade. LAX and the other area airports had been on high alert since the weapons went missing, but there were plenty of potential targets elsewhere in the metro area.

"Not based on the codes," Charlie said. "I mean, I guess they could be, but Beachy brokered deals between people. He didn't keep track of what they were going to do with the items once they had them."

"So what's in that zip?" Don asked, leaning forward and focusing on the screen.

Amita moved her fingers around on the touchpad, and a map appeared with downtown L.A. in the lower right-hand corner. "Like I said, it's almost all residential. No major attractions except Dodger Stadium, and they're out of town tonight; we already checked. On the other hand, it's easy to get in and out of since there's lots of freeway access."

"Yeah, Megan's said that before; it's her neighborhood." He peered more closely at the map and the tables still in the background of the image. "Charlie, what else has Beachy done for the buyers?"

The curly head bent over the laptop screen. "Uh, looks like other weapons deals, though none within the past year. There's a possible connection to Iraq."

"Iraq?" Colby blurted out. "You mean there's a terrorist connection?"

"No, not that. It's - "

Suddenly the door swung open and Liz came striding in. "Guys, where's Megan?"

Don checked his watch. "She left with Larry about twenty minutes ago. Why?"

Her face was grim. "We have a problem." She jerked her head back towards the interrogation rooms. "I went in there to confront Marta Luz Moreno, and she - "

"You what?" Don stared at her. "Look, Liz, I know you're bothered by the thought of them being after you - "

Liz cut him off with an upraised hand. "Except they're not."

He could feel the lines forming on his forehead as his brow furrowed further. "What?"

"I wanted to confront her face to face to see if she could think of anything else about the buyers if the person they wanted was right in front of her." Liz drew in a quick breath to hide a hitch in her voice. "She'd seen a picture of the woman they wanted. And it's not me."

"But she said the woman they were after was here in the office," Colby replied with a frown, pointing towards the floor. "She pointed you out."

"No, she pointed the room out. And I wasn't the only person here at the time." Liz held up a photograph of Megan. "_This _is the picture she recognized."

And the realization hit Don like a ton of bricks. "Oh, God."

Across the room, Colby was looking at him, his eyes widening with the same sudden understanding. "It wasn't me they following from LAX," he said slowly. "It's never been the Chinese."

"And it wasn't me who was supposed to be kidnapped," Liz added, her eyes dark with anger and worry. "If Megan hadn't been called to Washington, _she _would have been at the storage facility. That's why Beachy said their client would be unhappy if they brought me to him."

Don's stomach twisted into a knot. By assuming that Liz was the intended target and that Colby was the one in danger, he'd completely ignored the possibility of a threat to anyone else. Based on what Charlie had just shown them, that threat was suddenly looming extremely large.

He reached for his phone and pressed the third speed dial button. A second later, there was a ringing sound on the table. He whirled around to see Megan's phone sitting next to her laptop, merrily chiming away.

Don barked an expletive and hung up, already rising from his seat. "Larry doesn't have a cell phone, does he?"

Charlie shrugged helplessly. "I don't know if he kept it when he went to the monastery."

"Well, try to reach him, can you? Do you know where they were headed?"

His brother shook his head, curls flying. "I think Larry said something about the Thai restaurant next to her place, but I don't know if that's where they ended up going."

"All right then, let's go!" Liz and Colby were already racing out of the room, Theresa a heartbeat behind. He followed them to their desks, where they all grabbed spare weapons and vests, exchanging quick worried looks as they did so. As they raced back past the war room, he called out, "Charlie, get a hold of David and tell him to catch up with us, okay?" He caught a nod from his brother as he hurtled towards the elevators. The other three agents dashed inside, and he pounded the button to send them downstairs.

Colby cleared his throat as the elevator started down. "I never thought I'd say this, but I hope we're on our way to busting up a romantic moment between Megan and Fleinhardt."

"So do I, Colby," Don said, watching the numbers descend and doing his best to channel the tension suffusing his body into readiness rather than fear. "So do I."


	17. Countin' on a Miracle

oooooooooooooooo

Chapter 5: Countin' On A Miracle

Megan: Emotions aren't rational, Granger. Revenge is just an emotion.  
-"Soft Target"

After a few blocks, downtown traffic became more congested, and Megan reluctantly let go of Larry's hand to better concentrate on the road. The 110 freeway to the 101 was theoretically the shortest route between the office and her neighborhood, but theory often ran smack into the cold hard reality of L.A. traffic. Surface streets were her preferred route home; even if they meant a lot of traffic lights, at least they'd be moving.

They were crossing Temple Street as she made the automatic rearview mirror check that was second nature ever since Driver's Ed. Her eyes were already moving forward again when something registered in the back of her mind, and she looked to the mirror again.

Three cars behind them was a white sedan. As she watched, it accelerated and overtook the first car, weaving slightly between lanes. The skin on the back of her neck began to prickle. Ignoring the usual route home, she took a right turn on Sunset. The sedan followed.

"Megan, where are we - "

She cut him off, lifting an upraised hand. "Be quiet for a moment."

The request was unusual enough that Larry actually did fall silent. They passed through a series of stop signs and the white sedan kept perfect pace, only a rusting Toyota between it and them. _C'mon, Reeves, how many white sedans are there in L.A.?_ she asked herself, hoping she was being paranoid.

The upcoming stoplight was beginning to turn yellow, and she sailed on through. The Toyota hit the brakes, and the white sedan swerved around it and gunned the engine, passing through the intersection on solid red. Her eyes slid to the license plate, and she drew in a sharp breath. The last two digits were 63 - the same as she had seen two nights ago while ducking away from automatic weapons fire in this same car.

Megan started thinking ahead, looking down the street. Two more blocks to the 110, which would be at a standstill at this time of the evening. On the other side of the freeway was Chinatown, with streets too congested to lose a tail. And beyond that was an industrial area that would be almost deserted this time of the evening. Just the kind of place they might make their move.

"Megan, what is it?" Larry's voice was calm, but he was clearly concerned.

As he started to crane his neck around, she reached out to grab his upper arm. "Don't turn around," she said. "They'll see you." She slid her hand down his arm and grabbed his hand. "Larry, I need you to listen to me."

"Anything," he quickly replied.

She looked down at her waist and cursed, remembering placing her phone down on the table in the war room but not picking it back up. "Do you have a phone with you?"

Larry fumbled for his shirt pocket. "Yes."

Megan checked the mirror one more time. Two car lengths behind them and closing. She accelerated a little to make the next light, and the white sedan blew through the red again. _Where's a cop when you need one?_ "The Chinatown Metro station is up ahead. You're going to get out and call Don, or call Charlie and have him get Don. Tell him I'm being followed by the car from the other night, and that I'm going north on Main."

She cast a quick glance at Larry to see his face nearly white. "The men from the other night? The ones who shot at you? Megan, I can't leave you to that."

"I can't be worrying about you, too. Please, I need you to do this for me." She squeezed his hand and tapped the brake as they approached a stoplight. The sedan pulled in right behind them, and she looked in the mirror to see two men in the front seat with baseball caps pulled low over their faces. There were two more figures in the back seat, but she couldn't make out any details.

"All right." His voice was quiet, and as she looked over, "stricken" was the only word that could describe the expression on his face.

"Hey, I'll be fine," she said. "I can lose them, but I don't want to have to worry about you getting hurt, okay?"

Larry nodded dubiously. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the light change, and she pulled forward. The next block had another stoplight, but it was adjacent to the Metro station, the street in shadow from the concrete pillars that soared overhead to support the train track. Larry reached for the door handle, but she grabbed his arm again. "Wait till the light changes."

He took off his seatbelt, tucking the phone back in his pocket. On the cross-street, the light was turning yellow. "Be careful, my love," he said, his hand on the door handle.

Megan gave him a tight nod. "You too."

Then the light changed. Larry dashed out the door, slammed it shut, and strode towards the escalator to the elevated train line. At the same time, Megan cut across to the left-turn lane and prayed that the sedan would stick with her.

It did.

She turned sharply onto Main and headed north, away from downtown. Off to the right, she could see the distinctive twin towers of the downtown jail, and she grimaced. If it were only her, she would be heading in that direction, seeking backup from the nearest police officer. But with Larry on the street, the men in the white sedan might well decide to go after him instead. Megan had no idea who they were, but she couldn't risk them going after her companion if they thought she was inaccessible.

So she pressed the accelerator harder as the street curved away from Chinatown, heading into an industrial area that was creepy even in full daylight. At least the risk of innocent pedestrians getting caught in the crossfire would be minimal, should it come to that. She reached down to draw her weapon and laid it on the seat next to her.

And as she'd expected, the sedan started to speed up, looming larger and larger in her rearview mirror.

oooooooooooooooo

Liz gunned the motor as she drove out of the parking garage. They didn't have an idea of exactly where Megan would be, but the shortest route to her neighborhood was clear enough. Beside her, Don was tapping his closed cell phone against the top of his leg, looking down at it periodically as if he could have missed it ringing. In the rearview mirror, she could see Colby and Theresa pulling out onto the street behind them. "Should we have the sirens on?" she asked.

"Not until we know something for sure," Don replied, his voice tight. "Right now, it's just a gut feeling." There was silence for a moment, and then he made a scoffing noise. "Like the same gut feeling that's had me worried about Colby for the past three days."

"Hey, it made the most sense based on what we all knew," she said. "I mean, _I_ didn't exactly get the impression that Simeon took the wrong FBI agent the other night." Even now, she couldn't think of any indication that the cartel leader had known she wasn't the "payment" his clients were expecting, although all of a sudden Beachy's comment about their client being disappointed made a lot more sense.

"He must not have seen the picture of Megan that Moreno did," Don mused. "Or he would have known."

"Who do you suppose these guys are?" Liz asked. "The buyers, I mean." _The people who are scheduled to go after Megan sometime today, _she couldn't help but add in her head.

"Who knows?" came the reply. "They could be - " Just then, Don's phone rang, and he instantly flipped it open. "Eppes."

They were coming up to the stoplight for Sunset Boulevard, and Liz pulled into the left-hand lane to head towards Echo Park, her hand hovering over the dashboard switch for the lights and sirens as she listened to one side of the conversation. "When?" A pause. "She was sure?" Then Don gave her a nod, and she flicked the switch, the whoop of the sirens cutting over the noise of the freeway on the overpass behind them. She saw the driver in front of her look over his shoulder, startled, but there was nowhere for him to go. She was about to swing around him on the left when Don grabbed her arm. "Main Street," he said, nodding to the right.

The light changed, and the cars in front of her peeled around the corner. Instead of following them, she turned hard to the right, watchful for drivers who somehow missed the flashing lights and loud noise coming from her vehicle. An echo from behind her told her Colby was on their tail.

"Tell him to get to the office and stay put, okay? Thanks, Charlie." Don ended the call and promptly dialed in to Control. She listened as he called in an FBI agent being pursued by a white sedan with four unknown persons, headed north on Main Street and in need of backup. That gave her the information she needed to navigate through the narrow streets of Chinatown, past the elevated train and onto the relatively open streets beyond.

After that, she had no idea where to go.

Don had shut his phone and was leaning forward to shut off the sirens. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"We need to be able to hear," he said.

Liz didn't ask have to ask, _For what?_, but instead started straining her ears for anything out of the ordinary - like gunshots. The traffic had dropped off abruptly as they passed by an industrial neighborhood, and the red-and-blue lights would do as well as the sirens for those few vehicles still around. She started looking down side streets but didn't see anything out of the ordinary. No squealing tires or engines running at high speeds reached her ears, either.

_If I was Megan, and I had these unknown guys after me, what would I do?_ Liz blew out a breath. The first step would be to get away from populated areas. Check. "Who called you?" she asked.

"Charlie," came the distracted reply. "Larry called and said Megan dropped him off at the Chinatown Metro station and took off with a white sedan in pursuit."

Apparently the second step was to lose a tail, or at least draw it away from the civilian with her. Liz didn't have a very good mental map of this area; it was a mish-mash of freeways and railyards and the concrete channel of the L.A. River with the occasional small, steep hill plunked in the middle. The end result was a lot of streets that went nowhere. Did Megan have an idea of where she was going?

Up ahead, the road took a sharp bend to the right, and they swung around and onto a bridge over the river. Suddenly things looked familiar, and she shook her head and eased off the accelerator as they came to the other side of the bridge. "We're coming up on Lincoln Heights," she said. "Megan's not going to lead those guys into a residential neighborhood."

"Then turn here," Don said, tapping on the window next to him. She pulled the wheel hard to the right, and they screeched around the corner and down a narrower street. In the distance, she saw what looked like a railyard. "Think that's it?" she asked.

"Sure hope so," he replied, leaning forward in his seat. She pressed the accelerator harder, and they raced on.

A few blocks later, they roared under a train overpass and found themselves in a huge expanse of rows of neatly parked truck trailers. The SUV shuddered as they ran over a railroad crossing, and Liz tapped on the brakes. Wouldn't do to have them popping a tire because the road got too rough.

Don had flipped open his phone. "Colby?" he barked into it. "Go to the far side and work your way back - "

Whatever instructions he had been about to add were made moot by the sounds that split the air: a series of gunshots, followed by the screech of brakes and crumpling metal.

_Oh, God. _ The rows of trailers were all angled away from them, so it wasn't until they were actually past a row that she could look back and see anything. It also made it hard to tell where they were relative to where the gunshot had gone off.

"Colby, go!" Don called, and from behind them the second SUV roared past and out into the broad expanse of the container yard.

Then a second sound far off to the left made her blood run cold. It was the rattle of automatic weapons fire. "Hold on," she said, yanking the wheel hard to the left. Don braced himself against the dash as they careened around the tighter than ninety-degree turn to head towards the back of the property where the shots were coming from.

She zoomed past rows of trailers until they were almost at the end and then slowed down. The gunfire had died down to an occasional burst, but it was clearly coming from the other side of the trailers on their right. Apparently she'd gotten lucky with the row she'd chosen to drive down. The metal boxes were packed together so closely that she couldn't see what was on the other side. "In the car or on foot?" she asked.

Don was already reaching for the door handle. "Pull around the corner. Slow."

Liz eased past the last trailer and inhaled sharply. There was a streetlight pole about thirty feet ahead and to the right, and hard up against it was a silver Acura, the driver's side slightly crumpled against the pole. From here, she could see that the right front tire was flat, which explained how the car had gotten like it was. The only question was, what had happened to the driver?

She had an answer a second later when a Glock nosed over the edge of the open passenger side window and spat out a single shot. It was answered by another burst of automatic fire, and Liz's heart leapt into her throat. She slammed the gear shift into park and reached for her own gun. Then she noticed where the bullets were going – kicking up puffs of dust from the worn concrete below the car.

Don must have recognized the same thing, for he said in a low voice, "They're trying to get her to use up her ammo." He slid the phone back onto his belt and then said, "You ready?"

"I got your back," she replied.

A small quirk of his lips was the only response before he flung the door open and slid out. Liz raced around the back of the vehicle and followed Don as he ran in a low crouch between the two trailers next to the back of their Suburban. The gunfire stopped, and their footsteps suddenly sounded loud on the crumbling concrete. A few feet from the end of the large orange trailers on either side of them, Don came to a halt. Liz's heart was thumping as they slowly peered around the corner.

They saw a white sedan about twenty feet away, doors flung wide open. One man crouched behind each door with an submachine gun leveled at Megan's car. As Liz watched, the one nearer her let out another burst with his weapon. She wanted to charge forward and aim her gun right at his unprotected back, but something occurred to her. She looked at Don and held up four fingers with a questioning look. Wasn't that what she had heard him relay to Control?

At his grim nod, she turned to look back over her shoulder, but the view was clear all the way back to the Suburban. She dropped to a squat and scanned under the trailers. _ There_. She waved her hand to get Don's attention and pointed two fingers off to their right, the opposite direction from where Megan was. From where the remaining two men were, they would be able to see if she escaped from the car and track her in whichever direction she ran.

Don pressed his lips together, the frustration on his face clear. If they stepped out right now, they'd be caught between two sets of armed men. _How far? _he mouthed at her.

Liz dropped her head down and counted four trailers before the two pairs of feet. She looked back up at him and raised four fingers again.

She watched as he pursed his lips and looked back and forth between the two men they could see and the two acting as backup. Then she heard Megan fire again, followed by a sharp curse from one of the men. When the round of return fire started up, Don dove under the truck trailer at her back and started moving in a crouching run towards the two hidden men. Liz followed, gun at the ready.

Fortunately - or not, from Megan's perspective - this round of gunfire was longer than any of the others had been, and Liz and Don made it underneath all four trailers before silence fell again. Now they were only a few feet away from the other two men, both of whom were looking out over the aisle where their compatriots were, and she tensed herself for action. Don gave her a quick look over his shoulder, and she answered it with a firm nod. Then he darted forward, raising his gun and racking the slide at the same time.

The distinctive sound got the attention of the two men, and when Liz followed the movement, it was almost comical to see the expressions of disbelief on their faces. They were about the same height as Don, each of them with a pistol down at their side. They had medium-dark complexions and dark hair, but they weren't Hispanic. Middle Eastern, maybe?

Don said quietly but with steel in his voice, "Get down on the ground. Hands on the back of your head."

Liz waited, her finger curling around the trigger, watching every twitch of the features of the man nearest her as his dark eyes flickered between her and her partner. If his arm began to raise even a fraction of an inch…

But no, he was going to one jean-clad knee and raising his hands in the air. She tracked his downward movement with her weapon, painfully aware that the other man was still standing upright. If he made a move on Don, would the first man respond?

"On the ground, now!" Don hissed, holding his pistol up a little higher.

Her suspect was already face-down on the concrete, right arm out to the side and carefully laying his pistol on the ground before putting his hands on the back of his head. He spoke a few short words to his companion in what Liz recognized as Arabic. She shot a glance at Don, but his attention remained focused on the man who was on his feet. Finally, though, the second man reluctantly dropped to his knees and took up the same submissive posture.

Liz stepped back to cover both of them, nodding at Don. He pulled out his handcuffs and fastened them around the wrists of the second man after yanking his arms behind his back. She let go of her gun with her left hand to reach around and remove her own cuffs when a sound caught her attention. Her head shot up as Don's whipped around.

It was the scuffing of feet on concrete, and it was coming from across the aisle. Her heart pumped out an extra few beats until she recognized Colby peering out from between two trailers. Don was signaling to him, and Colby was shaking his head. Liz craned her neck, but she couldn't see Theresa. Where was the younger agent? She grimaced. If they hadn't been in such a hurry getting here, they wouldn't be without the radio earpieces that had become second nature in the field, and they wouldn't be relying on hand gestures.

A second later, Colby pointed to his right, back towards where Megan was, and she understood. The other two agents had split up to surround the shooters, not knowing where she and Don were. "I've got them," she said in a low voice, gesturing with her pistol towards the two men on the ground. "Go."

"Okay." Don turned and pointed at Colby and then in the direction the other man had just pointed. Colby nodded, and the two men stepped out from the cover of the trailers and started towards the exposed backs of the two men shooting at Megan.

Liz stepped forward and bent down over the first man, pulling his arms behind his back and snapping the handcuffs on with one hand. Then she made her way towards where Don had been, keeping her gun aimed at the two suspects but still keeping her promise to watch her partner's back.

Don and Colby were about ten feet away from the back of the white sedan, each crouched behind a trailer. They exchanged looks across the aisle, and then stepped forward at the same time and shouted, "FBI!"

She shouldn't have been surprised by the sharp bark of automatic weapons fire suddenly aimed in their direction, but her heart still shot into her throat as the agents dove for cover. The gunmen might have been aiming to keep Megan alive, but it was apparent that provision didn't extend to anyone else in the FBI. She flattened herself against the metal wall behind her and kept her eyes on the two men at her feet, both of whom were twisting to look in the direction of the gunfire. "Don't move," she barked, not wanting either one of them to get ideas.

When she peeked out again, the gunmen had opened the back doors of the sedan and were using them as shields as they fired in the general direction of the agents. A flash of movement caught Liz's eye, and she looked up to see Theresa sprinting across the open space towards Megan's damaged car. She caught her breath and hoped the men with the submachine guns kept concentrating on Don and Colby, biting her lip and thinking about what she could do to keep their attention pointed in their direction.

Apparently Colby had the same idea, for he suddenly gave a yell and stepped out into full view, raising his arms and squeezing off a shot that pinged off the metal frame of the passenger side of the white car. The man on that side promptly returned fire, and Liz gasped as Colby briefly staggered as he ducked back into safety.

"Colby!" Don shouted, but Liz was suddenly focused on the gunman on the right. His head was starting to turn around, and Theresa was still ten feet from Megan's car and completely vulnerable. But Liz had a perfect shot at him as long as she moved out from her cover, which meant she'd be exposed to the guy on the driver's side. Taking a deep breath, she brought her weapon up, stepped out, and fired.

The bullet would have gone straight into the gunman's head if he hadn't started moving towards the interior of the car. As it was, he cried out and clapped a hand to his shoulder, his gun clattering to the ground. That was all Liz saw before she dodged back behind the trailer, aiming back down at the two men who had both gone still. She heard the bark of Don's gun from her side of the aisle and a wild burst of submachine gunfire.

Then everything was quiet.

Liz cautiously moved out to survey the scene. Both gunmen were lying half inside their car, stirring but obviously injured. Don was edging towards them from the driver's side, Colby from the right, both obviously in one piece. She took a couple of steps back so she was out of kicking range of the two subdued suspects and shifted her aim towards the car, ready to back up the men if they needed it.

As it turned out, both of the gunmen were incapacitated enough that their weapons could be kicked away without further incident. Liz looked beyond the white sedan to where Theresa was carefully standing up behind Megan's car. A moment later she had rushed around to the passenger side and was pulling the door open and reaching inside. Liz held her breath, aware that Don and Colby were closely watching, too.

Theresa turned around and shouted over her shoulder, "She's all right."

Liz let out a whoosh of breath and saw Don briefly hang his head in relief. Theresa added, "But her leg's trapped; I think we're gonna need to cut her out."

"Roger that." Don grabbed for his phone, one hand still aiming his Glock at the wounded man in the driver's seat. Liz listened as he directed the earlier-requested backup to their location, including an paramedics and equipment for getting Megan out of her car.

She shifted her attention back to her two charges, satisfied that things were under control. She caught Don's eye and gave him a nod that she was okay, glad to get the same in return. Whatever difficulty they'd had the other day in the raid in Banning seemed to have disappeared, given the way they'd smoothly worked together in the last few minutes. _Looks like we _can _make this work in the field_, Liz thought with relief. _Maybe things'll be okay after all._


	18. Human Touch

oooooooooooooooo

Chapter 6: Human Touch

Don: Don't underestimate how great it is to have somebody to come home to talk to.  
-"Two Daughters"

Charlie pushed open the hospital room door with his elbow, each hand occupied with a coffee cup. "Knock, knock," he said. Behind him, Amita used her free hand to open the door a little wider. They'd been hanging back in the waiting room, wanting to give Larry time with Megan before they barged in, but curiosity and the approach of the end of visiting hours had motivated them to finally come forward.

He was relieved to see Megan's smiling face as she beckoned him inside. "Hey, you guys. Come in."

They entered the room and Charlie handed one cup of coffee to Larry, who was seated at Megan's bedside, hand intertwined with hers. "Thank you, Charles," he said, reaching awkwardly across his body with his left hand so he wouldn't have to let go with his right.

Charlie pulled up the other chair in the room for Amita and took a position at the other side of Megan's bed, leaning against the wall. "So how are you doing?" he asked. Now that he was closer, he could see that her face was flushed and there was faint bruising across her forehead. Probably a result of the airbag, he thought, trying to calculate the force with which she would have impacted but quickly realizing he had no idea how fast she would have been driving.

After receiving Larry's frantic phone call and forwarding the message on to Don, Charlie and Amita had dived into Beachy's datebook, focusing on the identification sequence for the buyers and tracing them throughout all of the coded entries. Larry's arrival had set them back a bit, since Charlie had to attend to his friend as he paced back and forth, alternating between worrying that he'd abandoned Megan and that he hadn't left quickly enough. Fortunately, it was only another fifteen minutes before Don called with the news that she was safe, if injured, and they'd promptly driven Larry to the USC Medical Center, concern for their friends overriding the urge to finish the rest of the decoding.

"I'm fine," Megan replied, her voice strong. "A little banged up, but not bad."

"What about your ankle?" Amita asked, gesturing at her left leg, which was propped up on pillows, the ankle surrounded with icepacks.

"It's broken," she said with a sigh. "They're going to wait until the swelling goes down more before putting on a splint. Otherwise I'd already be on my way out of here."

"It's amazing to what extent the human body is both fragile and resilient," Larry said, taking his eyes off Megan to glance Charlie's way. "To impact a light pole at forty miles an hour and come away with a few small broken bones…" He trailed off, shaking his head.

"It wasn't that fast by the time I hit," Megan replied. "Besides, I was kind of going sideways at that point. I think there were some pretty good streaks of rubber burned into the concrete."

Charlie recognized the strategy that Megan was employing: it was the same way that Don downplayed an incident or shrugged off an injury as no worse than he'd experienced before, neither of which tended to be very comforting. But for Larry's sake, he'd play along. "So, uh, did you know who they were?"

She shook her head, dark blonde hair brushing against her shoulders. "I didn't get a good look at them."

Before Charlie could reply, there was a knock at the door, and he looked over to see Don poking his head in the door. "Hey, Megan," he said, his expression a mixture of relief and concern.

"Well, it's about time," she teased, gesturing for him to come in. "Colby left a while ago and said you were going take care of a few things before stopping by, but I didn't think it would be hours."

"Yeah, well, I wanted to be able to give you something when I came," Don said, stepping into the room and holding the door for Liz behind him. "Hey, Charlie," he said, nodding at him, and then down at Amita as she looked up. "Amita. Larry."

He sounded and looked exhausted, and Charlie felt his heart go out to him. Don always pushed himself and his team hard, but this case was something else, and Charlie knew that part of it was his fault. If he hadn't balked at returning to the FBI after his stupid mistake, they might have deciphered the code that much faster. Amita had pointed out to him in the waiting room that if he hadn't come back when he did, Don and his team probably wouldn't have gotten to Megan so quickly, which was also true. Still, he couldn't help but wonder if Don's burden would have been eased, however slightly, if he hadn't momentarily refused to help, and that wondering was wearing away a tiny hole in Charlie's insides.

"Well, I don't see any flowers," Megan was saying, "so what have you brought me?"

"The four guys in custody," Liz said, a hard gleam in her eye. "We haven't identified them all yet, but we did get one."

Larry gripped Megan's hand more tightly as he turned around to look at the two agents. "And? Who are these miscreants?"

Don let out a short breath, his jaw tightening. "The driver's name was Ahmed Kassim," he said. When no one in the room responded, he added, "He had a brother named Sami."

It took a second for Megan to react, but then her eyes widened as her jaw dropped. "Oh, my God," she said quietly, her eyes closing.

"Who is that?" Larry's tone was as demanding as Charlie had ever heard it from the physicist. Amita looked at Charlie, but he gave a shrug, not comprehending any more than his friends did.

"The Republican Guard," Megan said, eyes still closed. "Last year, the Iraqi woman who was murdered." She opened her eyes and stared across the room at the blank white wall on the other side. "Sami Kassim was the killer, and I shot him on the front lawn of his mosque."

"All this time?" Larry sounded incredulous. "He's been plotting his revenge all this time?"

"We'll find out in the morning." Liz's voice was like steel. "And believe me, we _will _find out."

Charlie was surprised that they were planning to wait to start interrogating the gunmen, but looking at the two agents, he could see that they probably wouldn't be intimidating to anyone in their current condition. "When do you want us in tomorrow?" he asked Don. "There's still a lot of code to work through."

Don ran a hand over his jaw. "How early can you be in?"

He looked down at Amita, who shrugged and said, "Neither of us has class, so how about eight?"

"Earlier if you can," Don said. There was no apology in his tone, just the order of a leader of a team who still had a long way to go.

"In that case, we should be going," Charlie said, pushing himself away from the wall he'd been leaning against. "You take care, okay?" he said to Megan.

She smiled and cast a quick, fond glance at Larry. "I'm in good hands," she said.

They said their farewells and slipped out into the hallway. "You think Larry will be all right?" Charlie asked. The physicist hadn't said more than a few words during their visit, and he'd hardly taken his eyes off of Megan. It had to have been a shock to have found himself in the middle of a potentially violent situation like that, and then to have Megan be injured as a result of it.

"Yeah, I think so." Amita slipped her hand into his as they walked down the corridor. "For one, he doesn't know how to work on P vs. NP." Charlie gave her a sideways look, but she was saying, "And for another, I think Megan grounds him. It's one of the reasons they get along so well."

"Yeah?" He tugged on her hand and pulled her closer. "And why do we get along so well?" After the darkness of the last few hours, he felt the need to lighten the mood, at least between him and his girl.

"Well, you love me because I'm smart and beautiful, and I love you because you're brilliant and cute," she replied in a matter-of-fact tone as they came to a stop in front of the elevators.

"Cute, huh?" He pressed the down button and a _ding!_ immediately announced an available car. They stepped inside, and he was pleased to find it empty. "I'll show you 'cute'," he said, advancing on her. The doors closed as Amita giggled, and the ride down to the parking garage passed much faster than he would have liked.

Fortunately, they had the whole ride home and as much time as he needed afterwards to persuade her to find some other adjectives.

oooooooooooooooo

The elevator doors slid open, and Colby stepped out into the quiet bullpen. He automatically checked the clock and saw that it was already after ten. Hopefully the paperwork wouldn't take too long, because he needed to get home and get some sleep before another day of non-stop work began. The four men awaiting interrogation were going to have some pretty angry FBI agents talking to them tomorrow, and he intended to be first in line.

He'd been stricken when he first saw Megan against the white sheets of a hospital bed, remembering the last time he'd sat there after Crystal Hoyle had so nearly taken her life, and then how Megan had returned the favor when he was recovering from his own near-death experience. She'd been the only one on the team to spend more than a couple of minutes visiting him, and he found out later that she was the one to lead the charge to rescue him. He owed her more than he could ever say, and now knowing that she'd been hurt because he'd been egotistically assuming everything was about him made it worse.

Of course, when he saw her, she'd gently teased him about that very thing in a way that made it clear she didn't blame him at all. She was fine, just a broken ankle and a couple of scrapes, and she wouldn't be staying more than one night. He figured there'd be an unmarked car outside her apartment for a few nights just in case, but for now, she was safe.

And so was he.

Colby dropped into his chair, struck by the sudden realization. He'd been going around feeling like he had a target on his back for the last few days, and now it appeared there hadn't been any need for it. He leaned his elbows on the desk and put his head in his hands, drawing in a deep breath. It really was all over.

He heard footsteps on the carpet behind him and turned his head, expecting to see David. But it was someone much shorter standing there, arms folded across her chest, light green eyes coolly regarding him. "So, Granger, how often do you refuse medical treatment after being shot?"

Theresa's voice was slightly exasperated, the continuation of the brief argument they'd had when he'd shrugged off the paramedics a few hours earlier. Sure, if it wasn't for his vest, he'd have gotten drilled through a lung, but all it was going to leave was a bruise on his torso. Don had eventually accepted that he was fine, but Theresa had been like a bulldog until he'd finally snapped at her to leave him alone. She'd glared at him before stalking off, and he hadn't seen her since.

Which mean there was something else that he hadn't shrugged off and hadn't gotten to discuss with her earlier. "I don't know, Pennington, how often do you run forty feet out in the open when two guys with automatic weapons are within spitting distance?" His heart had nearly stopped when he saw her heading across the open expanse of concrete. Sure, it had been a brilliant move to take advantage of the distracted gunmen, but he had the feeling that if he hadn't kept their attention on him, she would have been a sitting duck.

And that was worth a few days of aching ribs.

Theresa looked back at him steadily. "Only when I trust the people who have my back."

Colby swallowed. For a while, he'd lost that complete faith in his colleagues, after they'd handcuffed him and interrogated him and sent him off to prison without apparently blinking an eye. Not that it had been easy for them, he knew, but they'd never seemed to doubt his guilt, or at least he hadn't seen any signs of it at the time. The only good thing about this nightmare of a case was that it had confirmed that he _could_ trust his teammates to watch his back.

And here was someone who'd been working with them, with _him_, for only a handful of days expressing that same kind of trust. He didn't quite know what to make of that.

"So what are you doing here so late?" he finally asked, leaning back in his chair.

"Finishing up some e-mail, trying to find out what I can about the guys we caught tonight." She took a few steps into the cubicle and dropped into a chair. She looked tired, with shadows under her eyes and strands of brown hair that kept falling into her face no matter how many times she tucked them behind her ear. "How 'bout you?"

Colby jerked his head towards the computer screen. "Paperwork."

"Ooh, fun," she said in a dry tone.

"Totally," he agreed, eyebrows raised. "The highlight of any day."

The corner of her mouth quirked up, and his face relaxed into a grin. Her smile grew a little wider and her eyes dropped to the floor as her head turned away slightly.

Usually when Colby read body language this closely, he was interrogating someone. And usually what he would read from this particular text was that the other person was nervous. But the half-smile on her face made it pretty clear this was a good kind of nervous. Which promptly spawned a knot of nerves in his own stomach, followed by a swift lick of his lips.

Theresa had turned back towards him, and he realized her eyes weren't meeting his, but were a few inches lower: right where his tongue had just shot out to moisten his lips. And the mental debate he had started with himself was suddenly over. "So, uh, when you're done with that e-mail, do you want to go somewhere?" _Smooth, Granger. Dwayne would be laughing his head off at that one._

"No, I thought I'd sleep at my desk tonight. Five or six case files work great for a pillow." Her eyes were a little too wide to be serious, and it only took a few seconds before her straight face dissolved into a smirk. Colby shot her a look of mock anger that faded into the same smile she'd brought out in him a few minutes ago.

Then Theresa was taking a deep breath, her expression suddenly turning serious. "Actually, I - I wouldn't mind giving you a ride home," she said. "If you need one."

She knew damn well that he didn't need a ride, considering it was his Suburban they'd driven in to find Megan. So Colby felt his heart beating a little faster as the implications of what she was saying sank in. "Yeah, I - that would be good," he answered. He slowly sat up in the chair and then leaned forward, resting his arms on the tops of his thighs, not taking his eyes off of hers as he raised his eyebrows in a query. "As long as I can get a ride back in the morning, too."

A slow smile spread across her face. "I think that can be arranged," she said, leaning forward so her posture mimicked his.

They stared at each other for a moment, and Colby felt the slow rise of electricity in the air between them. He was about to reach out to touch her cheek when she blinked and drew back a little, the smile slipping on her face. "You should know, though," she said, rubbing her hands over the tops of her legs. "I don't know how long I'm going to be in Los Angeles. It's kind of a temporary posting."

Then he did reach out to cup her face in his hand, his palm covering her cheek and his fingers sliding into the hair over her ear. "It's just a ride home, Theresa," he said softly, though the look he gave her meant that he knew it was little more than that.

She leaned slightly into his hand. "And a ride back in the morning," she added.

A smile curved his lips, and he stroked his thumb across her cheek. "And a ride back in the morning," he echoed, his low voice becoming a little gravelly.

Her eyes briefly closed, and then she reached up and wrapped her small hand around his. "Better get those forms filled out, then," she said, nodding towards the computer behind him as her eyes twinkled.

Colby paused for only a moment before leaning farther forward, pulling Theresa slightly towards him. When their lips met, he closed his eyes, breathing in the softness of her mouth, her slight intake of breath, her warm skin beneath his fingers, all of the ways he hadn't allowed himself to get close to someone else for years.

They drew back and looked at each other. "Give me half an hour," he finally said, tracing his fingertips lightly down her cheek before drawing his hand back.

Her answering smile was nothing short of seductive. "See if you can make it twenty minutes," she said before rising from the chair and walking out into the silent bullpen.

In all of his life, Colby Granger had never filled out paperwork so fast.

oooooooooooooooo

Don tilted his head back and forth, cracking his neck. The elevator pinged as they descended to the hospital's parking garage. Visiting hours were long since over and even his FBI badge had been unable to gain them more than fifteen minutes of additional time. Larry had refused to budge from the room, but Don and Liz hadn't been able to refuse the nurse's request to let the patient rest. Megan had surgery scheduled for tomorrow and a few days of rest before she'd be back in the office, but she was lucky to be as unscathed as she was.

He let out a sigh and dropped an arm over Liz's shoulders. She leaned slightly into him and said, "We did good today, huh?"

Don nodded slowly. "Yep, got some bad guys and saved the girl."

Liz promptly tapped his ribs with a fist. "Hey, what's that for?" he asked, straightening up.

"You know Megan would kick your ass if she heard you calling her a damsel in distress," she retorted. "Guess I gotta be her stand-in."

"Yeah, I suppose that's true," he admitted The elevator slowed and the doors opened. "She was certainly doing a fine job of defending herself."

"Glad we showed up when we did, though." Liz shuddered as they started forward. "Not like she had a spare clip in the car, and her ammo couldn't have held out too much longer."

Don shook his head. Not to mention the fear she must have felt, not knowing if anyone was going to find her in time. "I still can't believe Megan was the target all along. I mean, who would have thought it, you know?"

"I know. Hey, at least it means I can go back home now," she said, reaching up to smooth a strand of hair that had come untucked from its pin.

"Wait, what do you mean by that?" Don stopped in his tracks, and a second later, she came to a halt as well. "Liz, Simeon still knows where you live. I'd be surprised if he hasn't connected you to Tabackian yet. You might not be part of his deal, but you're still on his list."

Liz put her hands on her hips. "And how is that different from, say, last week? Don, he didn't see my name on my license, he wasn't paying attention to where we were going. He's got bigger concerns right now than chasing me down."

"We can't risk that," Don said, coming forward and reaching out to lay a hand on her arm. But she stepped back, and he let his hand fall.

"So what, you're going to keep me under witness protection or something? You have no idea how long it might take to catch this guy, and I can't be living out of a suitcase indefinitely."

"Look, I know you want to get back to your own place, sleep in your own bed," Don said, running a hand through his hair. He opened his mouth to say more, and then stopped.

If he hadn't been watching her so closely, he would have missed the tiny flinch she gave when he mentioned her own bed. His tired brain struggled to think of what the problem could be, and then it hit him. It was the little detail she had neglected to mention to him in person but that he'd heard while she was giving her statement: Hector Simeon had handcuffed her to the headboard of her bed and left her there. Just thinking about it made his jaw clench in anger with the promise of giving it but good to Simeon when they finally caught up with him.

He also suddenly realized that Liz was trapped: unwilling to go back home, but not thrilled about him telling her what to do, either. He supposed in her place he'd be just as upset about not having control, but he had to make her understand the situation. _God, what a mess._

He reached out and put his hands on her shoulders, softening his voice. "Listen, why don't we compromise? We'll go back to your place, and I'll stay the night."

Liz's lips tightened, and she looked down. "Yeah, sure. That'd be fine."

Stung, Don took a step back, dropping his hands to his sides. "I don't know what to tell you, Liz," he said, a hint of exasperation slipping into his voice. "You think I'm being overprotective, fine. But I'm not going to let you out there on your own as long as Simeon is out there, too."

Somewhere above them, tires screeched in the garage, and they both took a few steps to the side out of the main passageway. Liz let out a sigh. "It's just - Don, we're around each other twenty-four hours a day right now. Don't get me wrong, I like you and I like being around you, but that's a bit much to take. I need a few minutes to myself now and again, you know?"

Don pursed his lips, fighting down the defensive reaction to his partner's request to be left alone. "Yeah, I know what you mean," he said as lightly as he could. "It's like, I love Charlie, but if I had to be with him 24/7, I'd probably end up shooting him."

Liz chuffed out a breath. "Right."

Silence fell, and he thought about what they'd just said. Thing was, if they were ever going to take this relationship beyond regular sleepovers, they _would _be around each other most hours of the day. Okay, so Liz probably wouldn't be on his team, so they wouldn't spend all day together in the office. But take today: Don hadn't seen Liz from the time they parted ways upon entering the bullpen until she burst into the war room with the bad news about Megan. So what did that mean in terms of her needing to be alone?

"Liz, d'you - " He paused. _Do you ever think about what it would be like to live together? Do you want more out of this thing between us than great sex? Do you ever worry that we're not going to last beyond the next few months?_

She had lifted her head to face him, the uneven lighting of the parking garage putting her features in shadow. Don bit his lip. They were _not_ having a conversation like this in a parking garage. "D'you need to stop by my place and pick up anything before we go?"

She looked at him for a moment longer, as if hearing the questions he hadn't asked. Then she said, "No, I'll just stay at your place. It's easier."

He nodded slowly. "All right." Cautiously, he reached out and brushed the backs of his fingers across her cheek. "We're gonna get him, Liz. Soon as we find the RPGs, Simeon's next on the list, and I wouldn't be surprised at all to find them together."

Liz nodded. "I know." She gave him a wan smile and then turned away.

They didn't say another word as they went to the car and left the garage. Liz was leaning against the door, eyes closed, and Don let her sleep, or at least pretend to, allowing her as much space as was possible inside the confines of the SUV.

Once this case was over, he was going to take some time off and persuade her to do the same. Conversation had never been Don's strong point when it came to relationships, and it one of the reasons he and Liz got along so well: she was the same way. But at some point, the things that were unsaid were going to be louder than what they _did _say, and he was determined to head that off before it could happen. She was probably the best thing in his life right now, and there was no way he was going to screw that up.

End of Part 3


	19. Hungry Heart

ooooooooooooooooo

Part 4

Now look at me baby  
Struggling to do everything right  
And then it all falls apart  
When out go the lights  
I'm just a lonely pilgrim  
I walk this world in wealth  
I want to know if it's you I don't trust  
'Cause I damn sure don't trust myself  
-Bruce Springsteen, "Brilliant Disguise"

oooooooooooooooooo

Chapter 1: Hungry Heart

Liz: Right, like why is it all your girlfriends are people you've worked with? The hours we put in, that's just the way it is. It's what we do after we punch out that makes a difference.  
-"Burn Rate"

It had been a long time since Colby Granger woke up with someone else in his bed. The couple of times he'd met a woman in L.A., he'd insisted on going to her place so he could leave before morning. Part of it was worrying about saying something in his sleep. Not that he was known to do that, but a word or phrase uttered at the wrong time to the wrong person could have deadly consequences.

The other part of it was keeping the attachment as casual as possible. He wasn't at a point in his life when he could seriously get involved with anyone, triple agent activities aside, given the requirements and dangers of his job. He wasn't morally opposed to a hookup now and again, and it was a whole lot easier to slip out quietly than wait around for the morning-after conversation.

So when the alarm went off Friday morning and Colby automatically reached over to slap the snooze button, he froze at the awareness that he wasn't alone. There was a warm body tucked next to his under the sheets, and it took a second before he remembered Theresa taking him home last night and everything that had ensued afterwards.

Then a broad smile crept across his face.

"Wh' time's it?" came a murmur from where Theresa's head was resting on his chest. Her arm was over his ribcage, her body a welcome warmth in the chill morning.

Colby smoothed a hand over her bare back, tilting his head forward to breathe in the scent of her hair. "Six-thirty."

"God, you're inhuman," she muttered. "And stop sniffing me."

"Not inhuman, just ex-military," he returned, continuing his gentle stroking of her back as he laid his head back against the pillow.

Theresa grunted and shifted against him, and he couldn't tell if she was trying to get something started or just changing position. Given what a big deal she'd made about not being a morning person, Colby figured it was the latter, and he willed himself not to respond.

They stayed like that in comfortable silence. Colby felt more relaxed than he had in a long time, and it wasn't just the aftereffect of last night. He'd had a respite of only a few weeks after his reinstatement on the team before he and Megan were chased by what he thought at the time was the Chinese, and the dread that it wasn't over after all had been choking him for the last few days. Now it turned out it really was all over, at least for him, and it was going to take a little while to get used to that.

The alarm sounded again, and Colby slapped it off just as quickly the second time. Theresa lifted her head, blinking at him in the morning light filtering through the curtains. "Guess I didn't think ahead about this part," she said.

He looked at her sleepy eyes and the lips he'd spent what felt like hours kissing last night, and his hand stilled on her back. "What, the awkward morning after part?" he asked with a nervous smile.

"No," she said, and then her jaw split open on a yawn. "The part where we get up too blanking early and go back to the damn office."

"I make a mean pot of coffee," Colby promised.

"From what I've heard, 'mean' would be the right word for it," Theresa replied with a sly grin that suggested she wasn't as out of it as he'd thought.

"If you can't stand a spoon up in it, it's not proper Army coffee," he retorted, and then that made him think of Dwayne, and he bit his lip and looked away.

Theresa's hand came up to his cheek, and she turned his face back towards her, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "Everything okay?" she asked, her eyebrows furrowing slightly.

"Yeah," Colby replied automatically. He drew in a breath to say more and then realized that for all he'd already risked his life to protect this woman, he didn't _really _know who she was. The past few years of not trusting anyone except his team reared up and closed his mouth for him, and he let out a short sigh.

She looked at him, her expression suddenly serious. "Here's where I'm supposed to reassure you that of course you can trust me, but the truth is, that's something you're going to have to work out for yourself."

He quirked up an eyebrow and went for the humorous diversion. "What, and getting naked together doesn't imply a certain amount of trust?"

The serious look on Theresa's face dissolved as she let out a snort and collapsed forward onto his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and held her there, relishing the softness of her hair on his chest and on the underside of his jaw, ignoring the faint pressure on his bruised ribs.

When the alarm sounded a third time, Colby groaned and rolled sideways, depositing Theresa on her back before sitting up and turning the clock radio off for good. "You want to shower first?" he asked, stifling a yawn. Just because he was used to getting up at six-thirty didn't make it pleasant, especially not when he'd been up till—well, he didn't remember what time they'd finally collapsed, exhausted, but the digits on the clock had been pretty small.

"They say that showering together conserves water," Theresa returned, blinking up at him innocently.

"Oh, they say that, do they?" Colby returned, trying to keep back a smile but failing.

She nodded solemnly. "And this is a dry climate, and we should do everything we can to conserve water."

"Well, far be it from me to endanger the environment," he said, rising to his feet and holding a hand out to her.

As it turned out, they probably didn't achieve much conservation of water, given that the shower took half an hour instead of the five minutes Colby was accustomed to. But it did get his day off to a _very _good start.

Sadly, it also meant that there was no time to do anything but grab a bagel on the way out the door, the promise of FBI coffee a poor substitute for a homemade brew. Still, the sparkle in Theresa's eyes was worth it, as was the warm, relaxed feeling Colby carried out of the apartment, even if he knew neither would last longer than the drive to the office.

They were silent for the first part of the trip, Theresa concentrating on the unfamiliar streets and Colby watching her, enjoying the competency she seemed to project just by the simple motions of driving. "What?" she finally asked with an exasperated look.

"Nothing," he replied, stretching his legs out and enjoying being a passenger for once. "How long did you say you've been in L.A.?"

"About two months," she returned, easing them to a halt at a yellow light that Colby probably would have blazed through. "Why?"

"I'm still bitching about the traffic after two years," Colby said with a shake of his head. "You don't seem to mind it at all."

"Well, I came here from DC, which is worse. The drivers here might be crazy, but at least they know how to drive." The light changed, and as she moved them forward, Theresa added, "Also, I didn't grow up in small-town Idaho, so I'm used to more than two cars on the road at one time."

It was a sign of how Colby was starting to relax after everything he'd been through that the words didn't register with him right away. When they did, he sat up sharply in the seat. "How did you know it was a small town?" he asked casually. Maybe she'd assumed it when he'd said he was from Idaho, but he was too attuned to paying close attention to every word everyone said to him to let this slide.

"Oh," Theresa replied. "Er. Well, I don't know if you know this, but you're—well, people have heard of you. Outside of this office. So when I knew I was coming here, I might have asked a friend to look up some things on you."

"Why?" Colby asked warily, eyeing Theresa closely. Damn it, David had told him about this, and it was still a kick in the teeth to hear that his reputation had preceded him. The one person he'd thought was enjoying his company because they liked _him _and not the stories that were flying around about him, and even that wasn't true.

There was a faint flush on Theresa's cheeks. She cleared her throat and spoke rapidly. "Because I saw a picture of you and thought you were really hot."

Colby blinked. "Seriously?"

She shot him a quick glance and returned to driving, expertly weaving through the early morning traffic on the 10. "I don't usually go home with people I work with," she said. "Even if it's a one-time thing."

Disappointment twisted in his gut, and he forced his voice to stay light as he asked, "_Was _this a one-time thing?"

There was silence for a moment except the hum of the tires. Then Theresa said quietly, "I hope not."

"Me, too," Colby replied quickly, hoping he didn't sound too eager. When she looked at him with a small, warm smile, he knew it was okay.

He cleared his throat. "So, uh, what else was in that file you saw?"

"Not a lot." Theresa maneuvered around a slow-moving pickup truck and said, "Most of it was super-classified."

Colby grimaced. "Yeah, I guess so. Eh, not like everyone doesn't know about it, anyway." As quickly as the FBI transmitted information between offices for the purposes of catching criminals, information transfer happened even faster when it was gossip being transmitted.

"I don't." Theresa bit her lower lip and shot him another glance.. "But hey, you know what?" she asked with a shake of her head, ponytail swinging back and forth. "It's none of my business."

"No, it's okay," Colby said. "You're probably curious, right?"

She shrugged and started crossing lanes towards the off-ramp for the 110. "It's not why I wanted to get to know you better, if that's what you're wondering."

It had crossed his mind, but Theresa's easy friendliness and openness had put that idea to rest sometime in the past couple of days. "I know that," he assured her.

"Good," she replied quietly.

They passed over the curving arches of the cloverleaf, and then Colby said, "I was undercover for two years, pretending to be working with the Chinese. No one knew I wasn't really a double agent except my handler and his higher-ups. Not my partner, not anyone at the FBI. No one." He'd never told anyone the story before, and it was really weird to be laying it out like this, almost like it had happened to someone else and he was just telling a story.

"Wow, two years." Theresa blew out a breath. "You must have been really good at it."

"Guess so," Colby said, unable to keep the bitterness out of his tone. He cleared his throat and went on, "'Cause when it hit the fan, they all believed the story I was telling them. Every single one of them."

"And yet you decided to stay here," Theresa said, weaving across traffic towards their exit.

He stared unseeingly out the windshield, remembering the decision, when he'd had the opportunity to take any position the Bureau had to offer, and he'd chosen to stay here. Here, with the people who thought he'd sold out his country and yet had put their lives and careers on the line to go after him when they thought he was in trouble. "Yeah," Colby finally said. "I guess I figured they had my back in the end."

As they came to a halt at a traffic signal, Colby saw a sign on the nearest lightpost warning that there was filming going on in this area, including gunfire and explosions, and to expect delays. He snorted quietly, wondering if he'd ever get used to L.A.

"It's got to be awkward for them, though, right?" Theresa asked. "I mean, it must be embarrassing to be convinced your teammate is a traitor and then find out he was only faking it. Talk about trust issues."

"No, I trust them," he said automatically. Then something occurred to him, and he shook his head. "I guess if they _hadn't _believed me, I'd be upset that I wasn't very convincing."

Theresa's hand landed on his leg. "Listen, I know I haven't been here long, but it seems to me that they're not sure where they stand with you right now. Maybe the same is true in the other direction, I don't know. But if you just be yourself, and keep working with them like nothing's changed, they'll come around."

He regarded her for a moment, impressed at how she had managed to put all that together after only a few days of working with the team. "Maybe you're right," he said.

"I'm always right," Theresa replied cheekily, patting his leg before accelerating forward as the light changed.

Colby let out a short laugh. "Well, you were right about giving me a ride home last night," he said, knowing that any further discussion about this not being a one-time thing was going to have to wait until the long day ahead was done.

She replied with a quick, smug smile that warmed him down to his toes.

oooooooooooooooooo

Charlie rubbed his eyes and took another sip of coffee. It was eight in the morning, and he'd already been at work for a couple of hours. Given the choice, Charlie would rather have gone back to the FBI office and pulled an all-nighter, but Amita had persuaded him that one four-hour sleep cycle would do them both a world of good. After driving home from Megan's hospital room, he and Amita had fallen asleep almost instantly, waking up about four hours later. He wondered if he would have felt even muzzier than he already did had he not gotten that little bit of sleep.

"How're we doing?" Don asked, coming into the conference room with two fresh cups of coffee.

"Better now," Amita said, reaching for one of the styrofoam cups.

"Making progress," Charlie said, flipping though Beachy's notebook. "About two-thirds done."

"Find anything else that could be useful?" Don asked, dropping into one of the swiveling chairs.

"Maybe," Charlie replied, "but I'd rather wait and cross-check it with the rest of the code."

"We haven't come across anything that might indicate where the RPGs are," Amita inserted before Don could say anything.

"Yeah, well, we still got guys scanning the traffic cam footage looking for the truck that left the U-Stor-It the other night, so maybe we'll get lucky," Don said in a tone that indicated he thought the odds of that happening were vanishingly small.

"How's Megan?" Charlie asked, looking up from his work. "Have you called the hospital this morning?"

"I stopped by on my way in," Don said, rubbing at one temple. "She's doing fine, already raring to get out of there."

"Did Larry stay there overnight?" Amita asked.

Don let out a soft snort. "The way Megan tells it, he refused to move when they told him he couldn't stay. Very calm, kinda zen, but also very stubborn. Looked like he had a crick in his neck from sleeping in the chair, but I guess I can understand wanting to be there, you know?"

"What about the men who were following her?" Charlie asked. He still felt chills when he thought of how close they had been last night. If they hadn't figured out the code at that moment, if they hadn't taken the time to explain it to Don and Colby, and if Liz hadn't decided to confront Marta Moreno, Megan might not have had any cavalry coming to her rescue.

Charlie shook his head to clear it. He didn't need to be focusing on that right now. They'd caught this particular set of bad guys, and they needed to focus on getting the rest.

"Colby and David are arguing to see who gets first crack at them, but unless they break right away, we can't do much with them right now." Don rose to his feet. "Finding those RPGs and Hector Simeon are our top priorities."

"Got it," Charlie said, looking back at the computer screen. "We should have something for you in a couple of hours."

"Great," Don replied.

Charlie expected to hear the conference room door opening and closing, but it stayed quiet. A few seconds passed before he realized Don was still in the room. He looked up and said, "Was there something else?"

Don was squinting slightly, like there was something he wanted to say but couldn't figure out how to word it. Finally he drew in a breath and said, "What do you guys think of Theresa Pennington?"

Charlie exchanged a surprised look with Amita. It wasn't like Don to ask for someone else's impression of a colleague; his own instincts were naturally good, and honed by years in the FBI, he was as good at reading people as anyone Charlie knew. Certainly better than a couple of mathematicians.

"She seems nice," Amita said offhandedly. "I haven't talked with her much, but everyone seems to like her."

"She did okay out in the field with you guys, right?" Charlie asked.

"Oh, yeah, she was fine. And she did great with an interrogation yesterday, so I'm not exactly complaining." Don's hand came up to rub at the back of his head. "It's just kind of odd that this new person happens to show up right at the time Colby decides to stay with us, you know?"

"And maybe you're a little more suspicious of outsiders than you used to be," Charlie guessed.

The rueful half-smile he got in reply told him he was right. "Probably someone expected we'd be short-handed and then couldn't reassign her fast enough," Don said. "She said it was a temporary assignment anyway."

"Well, someone seems to like having her around," Amita said slyly, looking through the glass of the conference room walls.

Colby and Theresa were exiting the elevators, and Charlie couldn't hold back a smirk as he instantly recognized their careful positioning. How many times had he and Amita done the same thing, walking into the office together in the morning, trying not to so much as lean towards each other in case someone got the wrong idea (which was actually the _right _idea) and clearly overcompensating in response?

"Five bucks says Colby's car never left the garage last night," Charlie said impishly.

Don shook his head with a frown. "That's one bet I'm not taking," he said before turning on his heel and walking out.

They watched as Don walked by the other two agents with a casual greeting, and even Charlie could see the way Colby's eyes were darting around as he nodded in reply. He let out a snort. "Two years of deep undercover work, and he can't keep a guilty expression off his face?" Charlie mused out loud.

"Maybe he used up all his undercover energy with the operation," Amita mused.

They watched for a second longer as Don addressed Colby and Theresa. "He can't be giving them a hard time for sleeping together," Charlie said. "Not without being a total hypocrite."

"Do you really think Don would do that?" she asked. "More likely, he's warning them to keep it out of the office."

"If he's bringing it up at all." The serious expression on Don's face suggested he had work on his mind, and when he pointed towards the conference room, Charlie and Amita both hastily looked away, back to their computer screens. "Do you think they saw us?" he asked.

"Serves you right for staring if they did," Amita retorted.

"Me?" Charlie asked indignantly. "You're the one who was watching them come out of the elevator."

Amita tossed her hair back over her shoulder and only said, "Come on, let's finish this up. I have class at noon."

Slightly annoyed at letting himself get distracted by the possibility of another office relationship, Charlie focused back on his work. Don's odd question aside, there were much more important things for them to be doing right now than worrying about the status, romantic or otherwise, of Theresa Pennington.

oooooooooooooooooo

The quiet beeping of the heart monitor had been hard to ignore while falling asleep, but Megan had managed, due in part to the rhythmic, repetitive stroking of Larry's hand through her hair. Now, it was the first thing she noticed upon waking. The room was dark with the heavy curtains over the windows, but daylight was peeking in around their edges. Lifting her head from the pillow, she saw the digital clock reading 8:06 and tried to remember what time the doctor had said he would be by on his rounds.

"You missed your first visitor of the morning," came Larry's quiet voice from her other side. "Your doctor was in to check your vitals about half an hour ago and requested that I wake you soon."

She turned to see him sitting in the same chair where he'd been when she fell asleep, still clasping her hand. "Did you sleep?" Megan asked blearily, trying to sit up.

Larry's gentle hand on her shoulder kept her down. "I believe I drifted in and out of consciousness in the small hours of the morning."

"You must be exhausted," she yawned, squeezing his hand.

"I had a lot to think about," he said with a small smile.

Megan tried to smile back, but it felt more like a grimace. Here was where Larry told her that he couldn't take the stress of being involved with an FBI agent, that he hadn't really considered what it was like to be with someone who was in such a dangerous job, and that they were better off apart. It had happened before, to her and to almost everyone she knew in the Bureau, and it never surprised her to hear about it. "What did you come up with?" she asked, hoping the face she was putting on was brave.

Larry let out a breath. "I went up to the monastery to seek a simpler life," he started in what seemed to Megan to be a complete non sequitur. "And for the most part, I have succeeded. Minimal material possessions, hours of contemplation, and simple food and drink have all helped me pare down to the core of what is important, or at least what I thought was important."

"And what is that?" Megan asked, her throat dry and scratchy.

"Oh, goodness, forgive me," Larry said, reaching for the glass of water on the bedside table. He held it for her while she sipped from the straw, closing her eyes in relief as the cool water slid down her throat. When he set the glass back on the table, he said, "I learned that what is most important is the quality of relations with my fellow beings. The other monks, the natural world, my students and colleagues." He looked down at their joined hands, a muscle twitching in his cheek, and it was a tiny shock to Megan to realize that he was nervous. "And you."

"And then yesterday happened," she prompted, steeling herself for what was going to come next.

Larry nodded, still looking downward. "I know it's the most melodramatic of clichés to suddenly realize when a loved one's life is in danger just how beloved they are. But it's true." He lifted his head to look at her. "Megan, I truly do not know what I would do with myself if something happened to you."

"You'd figure it out, Larry," she said, squeezing his hand again. "You'd have your friends to support you."

"No," he said firmly. "I would be utterly lost without you. I was thinking about it all night, positing how I would feel if you had been more seriously injured." He shook his head. "I know that you're comfortable with the concept, at least comfortable enough to do your job, and of course the thought had crossed my mind on occasion, but never with the intensity that it did yesterday."

Megan nodded. "I understand, Larry," she said quietly. "It's not unusual in your position to have a hard time dealing with someone you care about being in a dangerous job."

"I need to come down from the mountain," Larry said abruptly. "That is the conclusion I came to. I can't be indulging myself in the selfish pursuits of monastic life when there are people who need me down here."

"Trying to figure out what you want out of life isn't being selfish," Megan insisted.

"It is once it becomes not only the focal point of one's existence, but the _only _point of one's existence." Larry took her hand in both of his and went on, "You carry the weight of your mortality with you every day, Megan, every time you leave your office. I don't want you to have to carry that burden alone. I want to be there for you and with you."

"_Larry_," Megan sighed, stunned. She hoped this man never ceased to completely amaze her. "I think that's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me."

He brought the back of her hand to his lips and kissed it. "I hope you will accept my meager offering of myself."

She wasn't sure if it was a marriage proposal or a declaration of undying love or simply a sign of deep friendship, but there was only one answer she could give. "It's not meager at all, Larry. It's generous and giving and so very much part of the person I love."

Larry's eyes lit up, and as he bent closer, Megan lifted her head. They exchanged a sweet kiss that filled her with enough warmth to chase away the vestiges of fear that she would have to go back to being on her own.


	20. Empty Sky

oooooooooooooooooo

Chapter 2: Empty Sky

Alan: You save all the dirty jobs for yourself.  
Don: I do what has to be done - it's not like I like doing the dirty work.  
-"Take Out"

As soon as Colby and Theresa walked in, Don was on them, assigning Theresa to getting Charlie and Amita any further data they might need and sending Colby to get started on tracking down the whereabouts of Hector Simeon. They'd gotten a good handful of tips on the FBI hotline overnight, and David would be helping him sort through them as soon as he got in. Don had already taken a crack at John Madreno, their suspected smuggler, without much luck, which probably explained the frustration Colby could see clearly written across his face.

At the same time, Don hadn't even raised an eyebrow when the two of them walked in together. Not that Colby was surprised—Don couldn't exactly complain about his co-workers getting involved with each other, after all. But there wasn't a wink or nod of approval, either, and he wasn't sure if that was his boss being professional or disapproving.

Not that it mattered. As Theresa had reminded him again that morning, it wasn't like she was permanently posted to L.A.

He didn't give her a goodbye kiss or a lingering touch or anything more than a look that said _Thank you_ as he told her he'd see her later, and she gave him one of her warm smiles and moved off to the conference room.

For the next few hours, while Colby sorted through recordings from the hotline and traced down reported sightings, he was able to put Theresa and last night from his mind. He could do his job and compartmentalize his emotions just fine—the last two years had taught him that, if nothing else. He hoped they'd be able to catch a few quiet minutes together later on; another overnight visit so soon might be asking a lot, but he wasn't going to object if the opportunity arose. That probably accounted for the smile that seemed to keep creeping over his face when he wasn't paying attention.

David arrived some time after eight and started dividing up the work. From the sidelong glances he kept getting from his partner, it was clear that David thought something was up, but he wasn't going to pry about it. Things weren't completely fixed between them, even if they were on the right track.

They were done by ten, a whole pile of nothing sitting on the desk between them. None of the tips had panned out, which they rarely ever did. Still, they had to be sorted through, especially for a case as urgent as this. Colby wasn't looking forward to telling Don about their lack of luck, but he volunteered to be the one to do it anyway.

Just as he'd risen from his seat to go and find their boss, the man himself came striding towards them. It only took a second for Colby to see that something was wrong: Don's jaw was set tightly, his eyes practically shooting sparks, and he was looking around the office as if afraid someone was watching. When he reached their cubicle, he said in a low, tight voice, barely looking at them, "Conference room. Fifth floor. Now."

Colby opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but Don had already swept past them, headed for the glassed-in room where Charlie and Amita were working. He stared after him, puzzled. "Why the fifth floor?" he asked rhetorically.

David spoke up behind him. "It's got walls, not glass," he said. "No one can see in."

Colby realized it was true, and his stomach dropped like it hadn't since he was confronted by Don months ago in this same office, even if there was nothing for him to be nervous about now.

David's hand on his shoulder steadied him in more ways than one. "Look, he's just as pissed talking to them," he said, nodding towards where Charlie and Amita were being addressed. "It's not you, man."

Drawing in a deep breath, Colby nodded. "Thanks," he said softly.

They walked down the stairs in silence, catching up to Liz along the way. "What's going on?" Colby asked.

"Beats me," she said. "Don came back from a meeting with the assistant director and he was spitting nails. I hope they're not still giving him crap about us."

"Me too," David muttered from behind him, and the butterflies in Colby's stomach started to settle down.

They entered the empty conference room and took seats around the table. Charlie and Amita followed a minute later, and they all exchanged glances and shrugs that indicated they had no more idea what was going on.

Then Theresa came in, eyes downcast, with Don close on her heels, and Colby felt a chill run down his spine. He recognized that look. It was the same one that had been on his face when the game had been up, when his team had taken the bait and turned on him and he couldn't quite hide the nerves and fear at being caught out.

He had no idea what it meant to see it on her face, but it couldn't be anything good.

"What's going on, Don?" he asked, unable to keep his voice from cracking in the middle.

Don's expression was still all tight anger and betrayal, and again the déjà vu was enough to get Colby's heart rate speeding up. "Sit down," he said, pointing to the chairs around the table.

Everyone except Theresa was already seated, and she lowered herself into a chair at the head of the table before folding her hands in front of her.

Don paced back and forth for a few steps. He had to know everyone's eyes were on him, but he looked like he was trying to figure out how to phrase something. Finally he blew out a breath and walked to the windows, the panorama of downtown Los Angeles spread out before them past the half-open blinds. Staring out the window, he said, "I was looking through some HR files this morning. We still don't know how Hector Simeon's people found out our raid in Fontana was coming, and we have to consider the possibility that it was someone inside the FBI."

David groaned, but when Colby looked at him, his lips were pressed together and his head was shaking back and forth. _Not again_, Colby could read in his expression, and he looked down at the table, unable to meet anyone's eyes in case they were thinking the same thing while looking at him.

"The good news is, I didn't come across anything," Don said, turning around, arms folded across his chest. "Not that might explain the raid. But I found something else that I sure didn't expect." He rolled his shoulders back and said, "I was curious about this agent who's been dropped into our laps. No offense to any of my team, but I've learned to be suspicious about people when I don't know their backgrounds."

Colby looked up and caught Liz's eye. He could tell that she was resisting the same urge as he was, to look at Theresa at the head of the table. Her eyes narrowed slightly in question, a _Do you know what this is about?_, and he gave a tiny shake of his head. Her mouth twitched in a rueful smile, and she looked away.

"What are you talking about?" Charlie asked calmly, the one of all of them who had the most experience dealing with Don in difficult moods.

Don let out a breath. "I'm talking about the person from Internal Affairs who's been working in our office for the past two months, keeping an eye on us, or at least one of us, for some unknown reason. I'm talking about Theresa Pennington."

That time, Colby couldn't stop himself from turning his head to stare at her. "_What_?" he demanded harshly.

She was looking down at her hands. "That information isn't supposed to be available to anyone outside the Washington office," she said quietly. "How did you get it?"

"Oh, no, you don't," Don said, moving forward to stand over her. "I'm asking the questions here."

Theresa slowly rose to her feet and lifted her head, inches shorter than Don but retaining a commanding presence nonetheless, and Colby wondered where the friendly, easy-going woman he'd gotten to know had gone. "I'm sorry that you're upset, Agent Eppes, but it isn't anything personal."

Colby let out a loud snort, and Don's eyes flicked over to him. "So tell us, exactly what are you investigating here?" Don took a step closer. "Or should I say, whom?"

Theresa looked him back in the eye. "I can't answer that."

Don raised a hand as if to strike her, then pulled it back into a clenched fist as if he had just realized what he was doing. "You damn well can talk about it and you will," he ground out.

"I can't," she said, shaking her head. "You know how it works, Agent Eppes."

"Right, I know how it works." Don ran a hand over his mouth and took a step back. "Someone in Washington thinks they know what's going on in the field better than the people who are actually out in it, and they send someone to spy on us all to justify their story. And the thing is, even if there's nothing worth writing a report about, the word has gotten out." He made a sweeping gesture to encompass the room. "We're all being investigated by Internal Affairs. That goes in a logbook somewhere, even if it's a positive outcome, and we can't do anything about that."

"I'm not here to put a black mark on anyone's record," Theresa said.

"Then why are you here?" David snapped. His voice was as close to a growl as Colby had ever heard it, and only his own stomach churning at the betrayal being played out before them kept him from appreciating his partner standing up for him.

Theresa pursed her lips. "It's called _Internal _Affairs for a reason, Agent Sinclair. It stays confidential and internal to the organization."

"Who are you here for?" Don demanded again.

Colby was speaking before he knew it. "Take a wild guess," he snapped out while staring at Theresa. "It seems pretty obvious to me."

She looked at him for the first time, and he wasn't sure if it was genuine regret in her eyes, or if he just wanted to see it. "Colby, I'm sorry," she said quietly. "This isn't—it's not what you think."

He snorted again. "You have no idea what I think."

"It's not too hard to figure out," she said almost gently, and that snapped something inside of him.

He pushed the chair back abruptly and took a few steps forward until he was standing at the head of the table, Theresa in between him and Don. "So tell me," he said softly but with underlying menace, "have you been sending back good reports on all of us? After asking about how we're all getting along and adjusting to being a team again?"

Theresa licked her lips and looked away. "I can't talk about it."

"Can't or won't?" Colby shot back.

She let out a small huff of breath. "I know how it looks, and it's more than a little ironic, but you have to—"

"Oh, I am well aware of the irony," Colby snapped back. "Believe me, no one in this room is more aware of the irony than I am." He took a step closer, looming over Theresa like he had been so careful to avoid doing ever since they'd met. "And no one in this room knows better than me the lengths you might have to go to in order to fulfill an assignment." He paused before adding in a low growl, "No matter how distasteful those lengths might be."

"Colby, no," she started in a low tone, but he turned his back on her, on all of them, staring out the window at the freeway below. He felt eyes on his back, but he was suddenly clenching his jaw tight to keep it from trembling, and there wasn't a force in the world that could have made him turn around at that moment.

"He's not the only one you've been reporting on, has he?" Liz's voice was dangerously low. "Quite a coincidence that you should be assigned to this team right after we were all deemed to be incapable of working with everyone else. Those questions about Don and I, how we met and how we get along on the team? That had nothing to do with your so-called interest in Colby, did it?"

There was no reply, but that spoke volumes in itself.

"I'm gonna ask you again," came Don's voice, the tension and anger coiled in it like a whip. "Who are you investigating?"

Theresa's voice shook a little in reply, but it carried a hint of steel that told them she was not backing down. "I'm sorry, but I can't comment on an ongoing investigation."

Colby would have felt sorry for her if he hadn't been so furious and hurt.

"Get out of here, Pennington." The crack of Don's voice was a tone Colby hadn't heard since he was sitting on the wrong side of an interrogation room, and he couldn't stop a sudden flinch at the memory. "I don't care who you're working for or what your assignment is, you stay away from my team."

For a moment, no one moved. Then Colby heard Theresa draw a deep breath, turn, and walk out of the room. The door closed behind her.

And the back of Colby's neck started to prickle as he felt everyone else turn to look at him.

"Hey, guys." It was David's low voice. No one else spoke, but he heard the door open, and from the shuffling noises behind him, he figured they were all leaving the room. He heard Don softly say, "Be there in a minute," and then the door shut again.

Silence fell.

Colby finally turned around to see his boss standing with his back against the door, regarding him with something best described as angry compassion. After a moment, he spoke with an undercurrent of fury in his voice. "I swear to you, Colby, I had no idea—"

"I know." He cut him off with an upraised hand. As he lowered his hand to his side, his fingers curled into a fist almost by themselves.

Don cleared his throat. "Neither did A.D. Wright," he added. "I had a few words with him earlier when I found out."

Under other circumstances, he would have been amused at the idea of Don yelling at his boss. But at the moment, all he could do was give a tight nod.

A few more seconds passed. Then Don leaned forward and put his hand on the doorknob. "Come out whenever you're ready," he said quietly. Then he turned around and left, pulling the door firmly shut behind him.

oooooooooooooooooo

Don ran a hand through his hair and dropped into his chair, forcing himself to sit for at least sixty seconds. He was still livid from finding out that the young agent they'd all taken a liking to - some of them more than others - wasn't here by accident or with friendly motives. On top of the existing concern that he wasn't fit to lead this investigation, as Megan had told him the previous day, now there was this. Apparently people even higher up than the suits in his own building were casting doubt on his competency, given the internal investigation that was underway.

Don supposed that from a purely objective point, he could understand - they'd spent two years with a member of their team pretending to spy for a foreign government, and no one had suspected a thing. Could they really be competent FBI agents if that was the case?

But what really burned was that no one had brought this up to his face, or to any of them. Instead they were being investigated like they'd done something wrong, the same way that agents who were suspected of being on the take were examined. He wasn't wrong about what he'd said earlier: there was something being added to each of their files, and even if it was complete and utter exoneration, it was still on the record, and there was nothing they could do about that.

After everyone left the conference room, he'd essentially stood guard until Colby had composed himself enough to come out. Charlie and Amita had returned to the codebreaking with a vengeance, Amita offering to cancel her noon class and Charlie persuading her to go teach it and come back, arguing that the break would do her some good. David had volunteered to give John Moreno a shot, and Don had agreed, trusting the younger agent to put his anger to good use rather than lashing out at the suspect. Just in case, he asked Liz to go along, although she didn't look much cooler-headed herself.

Don thought for a moment about the confrontation in the conference room and the ways that everyone had reacted. He couldn't help but be proud of his team and the way they'd all pulled together to defend Colby, assuming that IA's interest was in the man who'd been basically holding a second job while being an FBI agent. Whatever lingering awkwardness remained among them, it clearly paled in the face of an outside threat, whether the assumed attack from the Chinese that had actually been the Iraqis or the internal threat of investigation. They'd gone through whatever Colby's outside activities had cost them and come out the other side stronger for it.

Now, though, things from the last few days kept popping into his mind. He kept trying to get the timeline straight, trying to remember when Theresa had first slinked her way onto his team compared to when various events in the Simeon case had occurred. Had Pennington insisted on being the one to debrief Liz after the disaster in Fontana because she wanted to get as much information out of her as possible about the team? Had that been her way of gaining their confidence and trust and gaining easier access to all of them?

Then there was Pennington's night-owl tendency, a charming character quirk that suddenly had a darker side in his mind. Had her eagerness to be in the office after hours made it easier to gather information from their personal files and notes? Their computers were all password-protected, but for all Don knew, Internal Affairs had ways of getting around that. The thought of their personal things being rifled through made him angry all over again.

And worst of all, had she come on to Colby merely as way of getting information about him? It had been obvious to Don's trained eye that the two of them had gone to someone's place together last night, but since he'd basically given Colby his blessing the previous day, there wasn't anything to say about it. Both of them were perfectly professional in the office, and he had started to be happy for Colby when he'd gotten the news that made it all fall apart.

Thankfully, Don had had somewhere for both him and Colby to direct their anger, and the interrogation of the men who had gone after Megan went much better than he would have expected last night. They'd confessed to going after her out of revenge, following her from the FBI garage to the shootout in the truck yard as well as earlier tailing her car from the airport and trying to shoot out her tires on the 110. In both cases, they weren't trying to kill her, at least not immediately, but to kidnap her so that Kassim could take his time getting his revenge.

Don really hoped Megan never saw the transcript of that interrogation. Or Larry, come to think of it; physical force might not be the man's forte, but given his store of scientific knowledge, Don was sure the physicist could come up with some nasty revenge of his own.

There was one piece of crucial information missing, though, and as hard as he tried, neither he nor Colby could get the men to admit how they'd known to watch for Megan at the airport. She had been called away only the previous day, and since Liz had been taken by mistake, the Iraqis hadn't known at that point that Simeon was delivering them the wrong person. They'd gone after Joseph Beachy when they thought he had their target in his hands and let her go, but that had been only hours before Megan was arriving at LAX. How had they found out where she was?

As soon as they wrapped up the interrogation of Kassim and his men, Colby had asked to take a turn with Madreno. Don shook his head almost immediately, and Colby glared back. "Why not?" he demanded.

"Because you need a break," Don said. "It's two in the afternoon, you need something to eat, and you need to step back for a moment. Trust me, I'm going to do the same thing."

Colby shook his head grimly. "The last thing I need is to step back, Don," he said. "I've got to keep moving here. We still need to find those RPGs, you know."

"Yeah, I think I remember that part," Don snapped back. He instantly closed his eyes. "Sorry," he said, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "This is where I reiterate the part about taking a break."

"Suit yourself," Colby said, starting to move towards the interrogation rooms.

"Granger," Don said firmly, waiting until the taller man turned around. When he did, exasperation and impatience written all over his face, Don pointed at the chair in front of his own desk. "Have a seat."

"Don - " Colby started.

"Now," Don ordered, letting a little of the authority that he didn't usually have to draw on creep into his tone.

Colby almost huffed as he sat down, but he did so without further complaint. "If this is the part where you tell me not to take it personally - "

"You have every right to take it personally," Don said, lowering himself to sit on the edge of his desk. "God knows I would. If it is about you, that is."

Colby scoffed. "What else would it be?"

Don looked at him for a moment before replying, "We already made that assumption once in the last few days," he reminded the younger agent, and from the flush on Colby's cheeks, Don knew he took the rebuke. "The more I think about it, maybe her investigation had nothing to do with you. Maybe it was about me and Liz."

Colby shifted in his chair. "Then she's not exactly practicing what she preaches, is she?"

"If it was her job, then she didn't have a choice about who she investigates," Don reminded him. "But she did have a choice about who she spends her time with off the clock."

"If it wasn't part of the investigation," Colby shot back.

Don sighed. "Look, Liz mentioned that Theresa was asking questions about me and her. That could be what this was about, making sure that I'm not taking advantage of her or something."

"Maybe," Colby replied, the doubtful tone of his voice indicating what he thought of that.

"Hey," Don said, leaning forward a little to make sure he had his agent's attention. "I already filed a grievance on behalf of all of us, but if you want to do one, too, I'll support you. No one came to us and said there was a problem, no one asked us any questions instead of sending someone to spy on us. That's not the way it's supposed to work."

"No, it's not," Colby agreed. He drew in a deep breath and let it out. "Let me get back to you on that, okay?" He looked up at Don with a rueful half-grin. "After I get some lunch."

Don couldn't hold back a returning smile, and he clapped Colby on the shoulder as he moved away. At least that had diffused the situation a tiny bit, which was really all he could hope for right now.


	21. No Surrender

oooooooooooooooooo

Chapter 3: No Surrender

Colby (as Don takes off at a dead run): I don't know what his plan is, but I guess we're backing him up.  
-"Money for Nothing"

David let out a yawn and rubbed at his temples. It was well past dinner time, and the vending machine sandwich that had been a poor lunch had been digested many hours ago. The gnawing of his stomach was secondary to his driving need to get this _done_, to figure out where the weapons were so they could put an end to this case and show that they weren't the total screw-ups that their supervisors seemed to think they were.

Oh, it wasn't their immediate supervisors, he knew that. Nor was it even necessarily anyone in the L.A. office. The point was, the work of some of the finest agents he'd ever had the privilege of working with had been thrown into doubt, and it ticked him off.

Not to mention what it had done to his partner. The few glimpses David had gotten of Colby throughout the day were quick, but the grim set of his jaw and his downcast eyes were enough. The poor guy had finally opened up enough to let someone else in, the first person he'd been able to level with after the whole Chinese thing, and it looked like she was a spy of sorts herself.

The one bright spot in the day was that they'd gotten enough out of John Madreno to confirm that Marta Luz Moreno's information on the original source of the RPGs had been good. Don had quickly passed that info off to another team, and they were working on closing off that pipeline and ensuring that no more of the weapons would enter the country from that particular source.

Now all they had to do was find the ones that were already here.

Madreno had been useless on that front. He'd pointed them to a warehouse in Riverside, but the local cops did a drive-by and found it empty. Apparently that was where the previous transactions had taken place, but once Simeon got a hold of the weapons, he apparently had decided to store them somewhere else, which meant they were back to square one, with time running out.

Now, just like a few nights ago, it was only their team and the janitorial staff who were still wandering around the building. David thought bitterly that if their supervisors wanted to know how dedicated they were to their jobs, they needed to stick around after five o'clock and see how many hours Don and his people were working. It had to outdo the rest of the office by a significant amount.

Then again, since they didn't have anything to show for it at the moment, maybe the higher-ups were right.

David rose from his seat and made his way towards the war room. Charlie and Amita had barely left their posts all day, and although they were still churning out results that were going to be useful to a whole lot of other cases having to do with organized crime or gang activity, there was nothing of use for the current goal. Don was in there with them now, slumped back in a chair, eyes closed. David knocked as he entered, and the way Don's head jerked when he sat up indicated that he had actually been dozing, at least for a few minutes.

"What've you got?" Don asked, rubbing at his eyes.

Feeling guilty for disturbing him, and even more considering what he was about to say, David came forward. "Nothing new. Madreno claims he's told us all he knows, and so has the Salvadorean woman. So unless you have another idea about where to look…"

"Give us just another minute," Charlie said with a distant tone in his voice as he typed away at his laptop. "We are so close…"

"To what?" David asked.

"Pinning down a location for the RPGs," Amita said excitedly.

Don sat straight up in his chair. "Seriously?"

"Yeah." Charlie looked up and beamed. "We've tracked back the letters that indicate the weapons to today's date, and we have a location for them. Or at least we have a zip code in Chino, even though it covers a pretty large area."

Amita interjected, "It's where the original buy was supposed to take place, before Beachy was killed and Simeon didn't know who to sell the weapons to."

Don let out a frustrated sigh. "So you know where the weapons were supposed to be."

"It would make sense for them to be located close by," Charlie argued. "They wouldn't want to risk anything happening to them before they could be transferred."

"More than that, Don." David had been watching the three of them lob questions and answers back and forth, and something occurred to him in the meantime. "Unless the buyers found out that Beachy's dead, as far as they know, there's several crates of rocket-propelled grenades scheduled to show up tonight in Chino. Except Simeon doesn't know who they are or where to find them."

"Beachy might have told him before Kassim's men killed him for letting Liz go when they thought she was Megan," Don said.

"Then why would Simeon be out looking for another buyer?" David asked. He could almost feel the gears in his tired brain grinding as they turned, but they were working nonetheless. "I'm guessing that he doesn't know where to go."

Don's eyes lit up. "So if we get someone in there pretending to have the RPGs, we can get whoever was intending to buy them."

David felt a smile spreading across his face. "That's almost as good as getting the actual weapons."

"Almost, but not quite," Don said. "Charlie, where exactly is that zip code?"

"Here," Charlie said, gesturing to the screen where a map displayed the expanse of Los Angeles's sprawl with a jagged polygon outlined in red to the right of center. The view zoomed in until they were looking at the eastern side of the metro area, criss-crossed with freeways. "It's about thirty square miles, but much of that is mountainous."

"We can overlay a map of land uses in the area and calculate probabilities for meeting locations if you give us some parameters," Amita said.

"Not residential and near the freeway," Don replied, standing up. "Start with that."

"On it," she replied, turning back to her laptop.

David was about to ask what Don wanted him to do when the door to the war room swung open and Liz came in, Colby on her heels. "We've got something," Liz said eagerly, holding up a piece of paper. "We found the Customs agent who was letting goods through uninspected for Lytle, and he let two containers through this morning."

"State Police have them waiting at a weigh station on the 15 south of Riverside," Colby said. His earlier dejection wasn't gone entirely, but David could read that he was funneling it into determination to get this done and the bad guys put away.

"More weapons?" Don asked sharply.

Colby nodded. "Hidden among the electronics in the back. The drivers swear they have no idea what was in the containers, but they do have a delivery location." He looked down at his notepad. "Somewhere in Corona."

"That's it," Charlie said excitedly. "That's next door to Chino. Follow the trucks and you'll find your buyers."

"And maybe the rest of the weapons," David added, excitement starting to rise in him. This was the break they'd been waiting for for days.

They gathered around Don's desk as he shuffled through some papers and then turned to face them. "We don't have a specific time for the delivery, but that's okay. All we need to do is ride along with the truck drivers and arrest whoever shows up to buy the weapons."

"How do you want to do this?" David asked quietly, hoping that his confidence in Don and in their team was showing.

Don pursed his lips for a moment. "State Police will have to turn them over to us because of jurisdiction. You take one vehicle and I'll take another, with Liz driving behind as backup."

"What about Colby?" David asked as neutrally as possible.

Don blew out a breath and turned to face the younger agent. "Colby, I need you to be our control center in the field. You'll be in a delivery truck and in contact with all of us and Control at all times."

Colby looked hesitant. "Don't take this the wrong way, Don, but—can we do this? Shouldn't we be drawing on some other teams for backup?"

For answer, Don spread his arms wide to indicate the office, empty except for a custodian emptying out the recycling bins. "For all we know, the buyers are already there waiting. We have to move on this _now_, and by the time anyone else gets their ass in here, it'll be too late. And yeah, I think we can do this."

Colby quickly looked at David, and David gave a slight tilt of his head and lift of his eyebrows as if to say, _I agree with you, but he's the boss. _The corner of Colby's mouth quirked up, and he turned away.

"You're right, though, Colby, we do need some extra assistance," Don went on. "Megan called this afternoon and wanted to know if she could help, especially after I filled her in on our eventful morning. I want her in on this, and I want her to be with you, Colby. That way if the three of us need backup, you can duck out and leave someone still in communication."

"She's out of the hospital?" Liz asked in surprise.

"Since noon," Don said. "And she's raring to go."

"Won't it take time to pick her up?" Colby asked.

"That's why you'd better get moving," Don said. "Pick up a communications van from the motor pool and get on the way. I'll be in contact with the radio frequencies."

David exchanged another look with his partner, this one a little more uneasy. Don didn't usually go off half-cocked like this, making up plans on the fly. But they all wanted to get this done, and they were all on the same page, and he was sure it was going to go fine.

He ignored the voice in his head whispering, _Famous last words_, as he followed Don and Liz out of the bullpen.

oooooooooooooooooo

The back of a "delivery van", AKA mobile field station, was never a comfortable place to be. It was crowded, hot, and unless you really got along with the person working right next to you, uncomfortable.

Colby could only imagine how much worse it must be for Megan, a cast wrapped around her calf and ankle, leg propped up on a spare swivel chair. At least he could get up and stretch his limbs a little in the cramped confines of the van without it being a major operation involving crutches and the danger of toppling over. But she'd insisted on being there, and Don had backed her up, even if it seemed to Colby like she would be better off resting up after her ordeal.

Then again, he could understand the need to dive back into work in order to forget about what had happened to you—and the worse stuff that had _nearly _happened.

"Status report," Colby said, raising the radio to his mouth for what might be the last time for a while. Don, Liz, and David all had well-hidden radio transponders, but they were about to go dark while Don and David started the deal.

"Team Leader here, ETA of five minutes," came Don's voice with a slight crackle.

"Roger that. You're not under power lines again, are you?" Colby asked.

"No, all clear. Just interference," Don replied.

"Team Two here, leader's vehicle is in sight," David said. "ETA six minutes."

"Roger that," Megan answered.

"Team Three, One and Two are in sight, but I am pulling over to maintain distance." Liz's voice came through with no static at all. "Ready if needed."

"Copy," Don and David said simultaneously. Then Don spoke up again, "Going silent until I give the word."

"Roger," Colby said, flicking off the microphone so he wouldn't accidently send a signal audible to someone on the other side. The receivers were designed to only be heard by the person wearing them, but a burst of static or other noise could blow someone's cover if the wrong party happened to be too close. This operation was iffy enough, he didn't want to risk anything going wrong.

When he looked over, Megan was chewing on a fingernail. "I hope he knows what he's doing," she said.

Rarely did Colby hear her voice doubts about Don, and he looked at her quizzically. "You don't think he does?"

She sighed. "I think he always knows what he's doing, but I'm worried that he's trying too hard to prove something here."

"You noticed that too, huh?" Colby asked wryly.

Megan returned a rueful smile. "If I thought there was any chance of talking him out of this, I'd've tried. Thing is, he _needs _this to go right, and if we can pull it off, it'll make everyone feel a lot better."

"Us and the guys upstairs," Colby said, cynicism creeping into his voice.

Her tight smile showed her agreement, and Colby turned back to looking at the screen in front of him with three blinking red dots indicating the locations of their agents. The receivers had GPS capabilities as well, so their locations were known down to the meter. As he watched, the lead two dots slowed and then came to a stop. "Here we go," he said, mentally crossing his fingers.

In Colby's pocket, his phone rang, and he frowned. The rest of the team should be communicating by radio, and any other call was extraneous right now. When he checked the display, though, it was from the FBI office, so he flipped it open. "Granger."

"Colby, it's Theresa. Please, listen to me."

He paused with the phone already on the way to being shut. Her voice was businesslike and urgent. "What?" he ground out.

"You have agents out in the field tonight, right?" she asked. "One of them is Don, and he's meeting the buyers for the missing RPGs."

He could feel his shoulders tense. "How did you know that?" Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Megan's head swing around at the sharpness of his tone.

"Because I've been talking to the man who told Hector Simeon where your people were going to be."

His blood instantly ran cold, and he reached over to grab the nearest map. "Where are you?"

"I'm on the 60 coming up on Chino. Where are you?"

He traced the route of Don's truck with one finger, then noted their own location with another. "We're parked just off the 60 in Corona. Don's already in position."

"You need to tell him that they know he's coming." Theresa paused and then added, "I'll explain to you later, but please trust me on this one."

Colby hesitated only a second. "Fine, I'll call you back." He flipped the phone shut and called Don through the radio, but got no answer. His heart starting to pound, he hit "2" on speed dial. A few seconds later, his stomach dropped as the call went to voicemail. _That's not right. _When the message ended, he said only, "Don, it's Colby. Abort the operation and call me immediately."

When he hung up, Megan said, "Colby, what's going on?"

He shot her a quick look. "Apparently Simeon and Co. are on to us, or at least on to Don." When her eyes widened, he added, "The only question is how."

He dialed Theresa's number and put the phone on speaker. She answered on the first ring. "It's Granger," he said. "There's no response."

"Can you stop him from going in?"

Megan's eyebrows went up as she recognized the voice, but all she said was, "This is Reeves. We're in a delivery truck about a mile off the freeway, and as far as we know, he already went in with David."

"Damn it." Through the phone, Colby could hear the faint screech of tires. "Can you go after him?"

"We can't move this thing too quickly," Colby said, "but we can call for backup."

"Do it," Theresa said. "Give me seven minutes and I'll be there to pick you up." Now he could hear the faint wail of a siren through the phone; Theresa must have activated it on her vehicle. "There's a team behind me, so hang tight."

"Roger that." Colby flipped the phone shut and looked at Megan. Forestalling the question on her lips, he said, "You know as much of what she's talking about as I do."

"And yet you believe her." It was a question as much as a statement.

Colby faltered for a moment, dropping his gaze to the floor of the van. He thought about the brisk tone of Theresa's voice, the way she had called him out of the blue, knowing what his reaction to hearing from her was likely to be, confirming that this was, in fact, something serious. "Yeah, I do," he finally said quietly. "I don't know how she knows this, but she sure as hell has better connections than either of us, and there's no reason to make something like this up."

"Can you trust her in the field?" It was the pointed question of someone in command, and he realized with a jolt that with Don apparently unreachable, Megan was the agent in charge at the moment.

Colby swallowed hard. "She was here to report on us, not to sabotage us." Then he added in a lower voice, "I don't exactly have any right to complain."

Megan swiftly reached over and grabbed his wrist with considerable strength. "That's not what I asked," she said tightly. "God knows we've been through a lot lately, no one more than you. I need to know if you can put that aside and work with Agent Pennington in the field when another agent's life may be at stake."

He met her gaze straight on and barely refrained from saluting. "I can do it," he said firmly.

Her probing gaze changed to a smile, and she squeezed his wrist before letting go. "I thought so," she said. "Now let me tell Liz what's going on and get her to wait until you and Theresa can get there. If it's a trap, there's no use in sending her after them on her own."

"You think she'll wait?" Colby asked dubiously, already reaching for his vest and preparing to go as soon as Theresa arrived.

Megan frowned. "You think she's going to go charging in there after Don?"

Colby thought for a moment. "No, she's smart enough to wait. I mean, we don't even know how many of them there are, and she's not going to risk it when backup is minutes away."

"That's my read on her, too." Megan reached for the radio and paused. "But I still might wait until you're on your way."

There was a screech of tires outside, and Colby's eyebrows shot up. "That was a fast seven minutes," he said, grabbing his gun and holster and heading for the back of the van.

"Be careful," Megan said, her voice uncharacteristically sharp.

He nodded and jumped out of the back, shutting the door behind him.

Their delivery van was parked in a strip mall parking lot, off to the side of a dry cleaners. The shining silver Corvette that had pulled up behind them was incongruous in the dimly lot parking lot, but Colby thought wryly that it fit its driver, or at least what he knew of her. He could hardly believe that it was only that morning that he had woken up next to Theresa, _and _only that morning that he found out she was only there to spy on them all.

Shaking off his emotions, Colby climbed into the front seat and barely had his hand on the seatbelt before they were squealing out of the parking lot and back onto the freeway. "It's the next exit down and then two miles on the left," he said. "Liz is going to wait for us before going in, but David and Don are already there."

"The rest of the backup is about five minutes behind me," Theresa said. She accelerated smoothly onto the freeway, weaving around traffic, and Colby could believe that she'd learned driving in the Secret Service. If she had, actually, given that she was never who she'd said she was.

But there would be time for that later. "How did you know?" Colby asked. "That this is a trap?"

Theresa sighed and punched the accelerator a little harder. "You know I'm with Internal Affairs. The thing is, there's been more than one occasion in the past three months where someone outside the FBI has gotten information they shouldn't have. It started looking like there was a leak in the field office." She shot him a quick glance. "To some people's minds, it coincided a little too well with your return to the office."

Colby set his jaw and stared straight ahead. "What, I didn't get enough out of pretending to be a spy, I had to try it out for real?"

"Look, it didn't make any sense to me even before I went in, not after what I'd heard about what you went through." In the irregular glow of the lights flashing on top of the car, he could make out enough of her expression to see it become more nervous. "And then I got to know you better, and the rest of your team, and there was no way." She shrugged one shoulder. "Not that 'gut instinct' is something you can base reports on, you know, but I reported it anyway, and they suggested I start looking at other agents in the office."

He could see where this was going. "And then we let two crates of RPGs slip through our hands, and 'someone' figured it must be one of us."

They blew past a couple of semi trucks like they were standing still. "It might have made sense from a desk in Washington, but not from what I saw. I watched your team for a couple of days, decided that none of you were to blame, and told my superiors that." Theresa shrugged one shoulder. "Then Don found me out."

Colby leaned his head back against the seat. There would be time later to review this conversation in his head, to hash out how sincere he thought she was and what the implications were for what had happened between them. But right now, he still needed to know something. "And what about tonight?"

She pursed her lips and spoke like she was reciting from a press release. "In an effort to cut costs, the FBI has contracted some of its non-essential services to third parties who are closely screened to ensure the security of all operations within the field office." Then she let out a short breath. "Except when they aren't."

"What kind of services?" Colby asked.

"Janitorial. Short story is, they hired a company out of Lakewood to do the cleaning in our office. Every employee is supposed to pass a background check, whether directly hired or contracted, but once in a while, they're short-handed and have to call in a brother or a friend or something to fill in the gaps. Turns out one of these friends recently moved here from El Salvador and has a cousin named Luis Garcia Esteban."

His eyes widened, and he turned to stare at her. "We've had a member of this cartel working in our office? For how long?"

"Apparently he's only been on the premises a few times: once a couple of weeks ago and once the day your team went to the storage units in Fontana." Theresa's mouth twisted. "And tonight, which is when we caught him phoning Esteban."

"Son of a bitch." He pulled out his phone and called Don again, no longer expecting to get a response, but still holding on to the hope that he might. It only took four rings of the phone and Don's voicemail to dispel that hope. "How much farther?" he asked in a tight voice.

"There's the exit," she said, slipping past another pair of semi trucks and darting across four lanes of traffic, narrowly missing the green-and-white sign as she took the tight curve of the exit. "Two miles, you said?"

"Yeah," Colby replied, one leg bouncing up and down.

"Then we're almost there." There was silence as she negotiated the car, roof lights flashing, through a red light and down the nearly-deserted streets of an industrial park. "Colby, you need to know that last night had nothing to do with my assignment here in L.A."

He grimaced. "Can we talk about this later?"

"Yes, but I need to know that you can work with me." Theresa's tone was as brisk and businesslike as it had been on the phone, a sharp contrast to the easy-going woman he'd gotten to like over the past few days. "I understand if you can't, and there's no hard feelings, but I need to know that now."

"Megan asked me the same thing before she let me walk out of the van," he replied. "And yeah, I don't have a problem with working with you in the field."

Theresa was silent for a moment. "Good," she finally said. "Anything else we can talk about later."

"Right," Colby replied, not quite able to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

Theresa let out a short sigh. "Look, Granger, the worst thing about my job is that you have to go into an office assuming the worst of your fellow agents. Depending on what's being investigated, all of them are suspects until proven otherwise, and it can take a long time to do that." She paused. "Thing is, I _like _you. All of you. You're good people, you're doing an amazing job of dealing with some pretty heavy stuff, and there's no way you should be subjected to anything as lame-ass as an Internal Affairs review."

The corner of his mouth turned up in spite of himself. "You always speak of yourself so highly?"

"No one likes me once they find out who I am," she replied bluntly. While driving seventy down the street, she still managed to put up on hand to forestall anything he might say. "I'm not saying that to get sympathy. It's just the way it is."

Colby could see a black SUV parked on the side of the road. "That must be Liz," he said as they approached, and sure enough, a moment later lights flashed on on the top of the vehicle.

"Nearly there," Theresa replied.

Anything else between them would have to wait until they came out the other side.


	22. Cover Me

oooooooooooooooooo

Chapter 4: Cover Me

Colby: Look, Alan, there's no instruction manual for how we handle these situations. I mean, not really. You know, we make our best guesses out there, and we just hope.  
Alan: So how do you wrestle with that? Having to make these big decisions, having people's lives _literally _in your hands? I mean, sure, it's not every day that your best friend's life is on the line, but . . .  
Colby: Actually, a lot of days it is.  
-"Chinese Box"

They were still a few miles away from their destination when the semi truck started to slow down. "What's going on?" Don asked, instantly going on alert.

Saul, the driver, nodded at the rearview mirror. "Cops."

Don frowned. Okay, so he hadn't had time to notify all of the local authorities about their operation tonight—he'd barely had time to find the truck they wanted and inform the driver that he'd be riding along—but he didn't think they'd been going over the speed limit. "Guess you'd better pull over," he said, reaching down to his waist to make sure his FBI badge was there.

The big truck eased to the side of the road in a dark patch between streetlights. It looked like there was a school next to them, the parking lot silent and deserted at this time of night.

Don wanted to hop out of the truck and explain what was going on, but he knew that was a bad idea. Law enforcement officials didn't take kindly to anyone approaching them from a pulled-over vehicle, much less a large vehicle like this in the dark. So he waited, watching in the side mirror as the doors of the sedan opened and two men stepped out and started to approach the truck.

He realized that he didn't even know if the procedure was the same in a big rig as in a car. "You got your license and registration handy?" he asked the driver.

"I can get it," came the reply, pretty casual for someone who'd just been pulled over by the police. Then again, Don figured, guys who drove for a living probably spent a fair amount of time pulled over. If Lytle Trucking was paying Customs agents to speed their goods through the border crossing, they probably considered speeding tickets part of the cost of doing business.

The first policeman had nearly reached the driver's side, and Don sat back in his seat, willing to let the driver start the explanation. No use making any sudden moves and startling the men with guns. His own weapon was holstered at his side, its comforting weight a steadying presence.

Don looked at the side mirror one more time, and something prickled at the back of his neck. The man approaching his side of the truck didn't look like he was wearing a cop's uniform.

Then movement caught his eye, and he saw a third man getting out of the car behind them. "Saul, we need to move it," Don said urgently. "These aren't the police."

His hand was moving towards his gun when he heard an all-too-familiar clicking sound, and he froze. Slowly turning his head, Don's stomach sank when he saw the driver calmly pointing his own gun in Don's direction. "No, they ain't," Saul said. "Too bad for you, Fed."

Don stared at the barrel of the gun for a moment, wondering if he could reach for it in the close confines of the cab and get a hold of it before Saul fired. He lifted his eyes to the other man's, trying to judge in the dim light how steady his hands were on the gun and if Don stood a chance.

Then the door behind him opened, and Don heard the click of a second gun being trained on him. "Hands on the dash, Agent," came a voice, and Don had no choice but to obey.

Jaw clenching, he carefully leaned forward and put his hands on the broad dashboard of the semi cab, his mind racing. There wasn't much he could do at the moment, with two guns trained on him, but at some point he'd get a chance, and he'd have to take it.

The gun was plucked out of his holster, and then Don felt the handcuffs being removed from the pouch at the back of his waist. A second later, rough hands were pulling his arms behind him, and then he felt the unforgiving metal being snapped around his wrists, making him even more helpless.

Then something occurred to him, and he wanted to smack himself for being so stupid. He might be alone in this truck, but he wasn't the only member of the FBI out here. Taking a breath and making sure his voice was loud and clear, Don turned his head to the side and said, "Kidnapping a Federal agent is a pretty serious felony. You'd be better off letting me go, whoever you are." That would telegraph to Colby and Megan that not only was he in danger, but he didn't know who had taken him.

The only response he got was a sharp tug on his elbow that had him nearly tumbling out of the cab, scrambling to keep his feet under him. They hauled him down to the ground, gravel crunching under his feet, pausing only briefly before slamming him back against the truck.

A second later, a figure Don realized was the third man from the "police car" was approaching, another gun in his hand. Before Don could move, the gun was pressing under his jaw, pinning his head back against the side of the truck.

He went perfectly still, arms trapped between his body and the truck, gun at his throat. When the gunman shifted slightly to the side and the nearest streetlight dimly illuminated his features, Don's stomach sank even further.

It was Luis Garcia Esteban. Simeon's second-in-command, the same man who'd had Don at his mercy back in the U-Stor-It and had only let him go at Simeon's order. From the triumphant look on his face, Don had the feeling that same mercy wasn't going to be shown this time.

"You got a radio on you, Fed?" Esteban asked. "Communicating with your people?"

"Just the cell phone, Esteban," Don replied, aware of the gun moving with his throat as he spoke, hoping desperately that the man's name had gotten through to the people at the other end.

Esteban lifted the gun for only a second before sharply bringing it sideways, pistol-whipping Don and making his lip split open. "You think you're clever," he retorted. "Whoever's listening won't be able to help you once you're dead."

Don looked back at him grimly. "Is that what's going to happen?" he asked as levelly as he could.

Esteban's face twisted into a cruel smile. "Yeah," he said. "You want it now?"

Don looked back at him for a long moment, keeping his face blank despite the emotions that were churning close to the surface. Finally, he said in a low voice, "No."

"Then tell me how you're communicating with your people," Esteban insisted.

On the one hand, it wasn't likely they were going to let him go this time, so maybe it didn't matter. But the survival instinct was strong, and if giving up his communication link kept him alive long enough for his team to find him, Don would take it. "Earpiece," he finally said. "Right ear."

A second later, Esteban's fingers were digging at his ear, and Don felt the small receiver being removed. The shorter man dropped it and ground it hard under his heel. "Now, with us," he said, stepping back and motioning towards the car they'd come in.

The man who'd opened the door and dragged Don out spoke up. "_¿Y el otro?_"

Esteban shrugged, his eyes never leaving Don. "_No lo necesitamos_."

"_Comprendo_," came the reply, and Don understood enough Spanish for a sick realization to form, but there was nothing he could do as the first man disappeared around the front of the truck.

A moment later, the two rapid-fire gunshots confirmed that Saul was, in fact, no longer needed.

Esteban was watching him closely. "Let's go," he said with a shove, and Don had no choice but to obey.

Behind the sedan that had pulled them over, its red and blue lights still flashing on top, Don saw nothing but empty road. _Come on, guys_, he thought. _ I'm counting on you. _

oooooooooooooooooo

When she got the call from Megan, Liz's first impulse was to hightail it out of the medical office parking lot she was sitting in and take off to Don's last known location. Megan anticipated this, though, and she talked her out of it before Liz could voice the desire. Colby had gone silent, presumably talking with Theresa, and that was a conversation she couldn't even imagine having right now.

Then she heard Don's voice in her ear, and her heart skipped a beat when she realized what was going on. The agent side of her was taking in the information he was so cleverly giving them, but the rest of her was terrified for him. When Don said Esteban's name, she had to clamp her hand over her mouth to keep from shouting out loud, which surely would have been heard by the men who had Don.

And then it didn't matter, as the sound went to static.

There was a brief pause, and then Megan's and Colby's voices both leapt to life. Megan took control, and Liz's heart thumped again when she realized that she was the senior agent now, at least for the moment. Colby briefly explained what Theresa had told him about the leak in the FBI office, and Liz pounded on the steering wheel in frustration at the thought of having their plans turned over to the enemy like that.

Maybe it was a good thing that Don had planned so much of this operation on the fly—at least the rest of them were safe so far.

Ten agonizingly long minutes passed until flashing red and blue lights appeared in her rearview mirror and a silver Corvette slowed down enough for Colby to wave _Come on!_ at her. She was behind them in seconds, no lights flashing on her vehicle, but Megan's voice was still warm in her ear, giving her updates.

"David's okay," Megan said, and Liz felt a tiny bit of relief. "We got the local cops to pull over the truck he was riding with and take the driver into custody."

"Was he part of it, too?" Liz asked.

"No idea," Megan said, sounding distracted. "Theresa, you're coming up on it."

Through the earpiece, Theresa's voice was too faint to be heard, but Colby was relaying the information on. "We see a semi pulled over on the side up ahead," he said.

"Be careful," Megan warned unnecessarily.

Liz's hands tightened around the steering wheel. "Do we know how many of them there are?" she asked.

Theresa's voice came faintly again, and then, suddenly, much more clearly. Apparently Colby had brought a spare comm device for her. "From what the guy we caught said, there could be two or three, plus the driver."

Following Colby's suggestion, they drove right past the truck, wanting to make it appear to anyone watching that the cars with the flashing lights were on their way somewhere else. As they sped past, Liz looked to the right as much as she dared, knowing that Colby was devoting his full attention to scoping things out.

When she saw the body next to the driver's side of the cab, she reflexively slammed on the brakes. "There's a man down," she said, swerving off in front of the truck, fighting down the fear that was rising up in her throat.

"Is there anyone else there?" Megan demanded.

"No one that I saw," Colby replied, his voice barely audible over the screeching of tires as Theresa slammed on the brakes and brought her car around in a U-turn, headlights illuminating the scene.

Liz drew her gun as she stepped out of her SUV, holding it in a steady, two-handed grip as she approached the man on the ground. In the glow of Theresa's headlights, she could pick out a dark red puddle on the ground, and her stomach turned over.

"I got your back," Colby called, and she heard the slamming of a car door behind her. Carefully, listening for any other signs of life, Liz stepped forward until she was standing over the figure.

It wasn't Don, and the breath left her lungs in a whoosh. "Unknown male," she spoke aloud. "Two shots to the forehead."

Behind her, she heard Colby moving around the front of the truck, and she kept going down the side of the trailer, cautiously edging towards the back. There was no sign of anyone else here, but that didn't mean they weren't going to learn anything from looking around.

Liz made it to the back of the truck and mentally counted to three before swinging around the corner, gun extended in front of her. There was no one there, and the truck was closed up tight and locked. To her left, tire tracks in the gravel showed that a vehicle had been right behind the semi and then gone in reverse. "Clear," she said quietly as she rounded the corner to where Colby was.

He was crouching in the gravel, holding something small in his hand. When he held it up, she wasn't surprised to see a small electronic device crushed into pieces. "Do we have any way to track him?" she asked.

"His cell phone's here under the truck," Colby said grimly. "So unless one of you attached a GPS device to Don's shoe while he wasn't looking, no, we don't."

"Damn it!" Liz burst out. She put a hand to her forehead. It hadn't been hard at all to imagine what Don had gone through the other night when she was taken, and now it was playing out before her eyes in living color, something she definitely could have done without.

"Do we know where they might have taken him?" Megan asked.

"Probably wherever they've been the last few days, which we never managed to figure out," Liz snapped back.

"What about that zip code that Charlie identified?"

It was David's voice in their ears, and Liz saw Colby's shoulders sag in relief. "Hey there, partner," Colby said. "Good to hear from you."

"Good to be heard from," David responded easily. "You remember that Charlie identified where the original buy was likely to take place?"

"In Chino, right?" Colby replied.

"That's right next door," Theresa's voice added from where she was still sitting in the car. There wasn't any traffic on this industrial park road, and her headlights were still providing their only light.

"I'll get on that and see if they've narrowed it down any," Megan said quickly.

"I think that's our best bet," Colby said, turning towards Liz.

She straightened her shoulders. "Then let's go."

_Hang on, Don, we're coming._

oooooooooooooooooo

It was another hair-raising fifteen minutes with Theresa behind the wheel, but Colby was barely paying attention. He was too busy talking back and forth with Megan, Liz, and David, tracking the progress of the FBI team that had been following Theresa and was now a few miles behind them. Charlie and Amita had narrowed down the likely location to a cluster of warehouses up against the Chino hills, and they were headed there now.

"Guys, they found something else," Megan said. "There's a warehouse that's rented out through a couple of shell corporations to the same organization that owns the U-Stor-It in Fontana."

Colby's jaw clenched. "That has to be it."

"Where am I going?" Theresa asked.

Megan rattled off an address, and Colby leaned forward to punch it into the onboard GPS. A moment later, they were chasing the imaginary red line down the street in front of them, Theresa having to slow down a few times because Liz couldn't make the turns as fast as them.

"We're at least fifteen minutes behind you," David said. "The rest of the backup caught up with me, and we're going as fast as we can."

"Roger that," Colby said. "We might have to go in without you."

"Colby, this might be where they're storing the RPGs, too," Megan reminded him. "You're only doing reconnaissance right now."

"Unless Don needs us sooner than that," Colby replied, and he got no argument from anyone on that channel.

Theresa turned off the flashing lights when they were a mile or so away, slowing down so as not to appear suspicious in case anyone was watching. She turned into another industrial park, the roadway lined with palm trees like it was a hotel entrance rather than a bunch of warehouses. "Last one on the left, it looks like," she said, nodding towards the cluster of vehicles outside one of the long, low-slung buildings.

"Copy that," Liz said. Colby turned to see her vehicle making the same turn into the industrial park. "How are we playing this?" she asked.

"On foot the rest of the way," he decided, tapping Theresa's arm and pointing towards an empty parking lot. She turned in, Liz following, and they came to a halt in a loading dock behind the building, a short distance across scrubby grass to the building with the cars out front.

They climbed out of the car, checking weapons and ammunition as they went. Colby looked over his tiny team, hoping that all they would have to do was observe until the bigger guns arrived. God only knew how many people were inside that warehouse, if it was Simeon's headquarters.

He looked at Liz, checking the straps on her vest, and then swung his gaze to Theresa. He blinked. "You don't have a vest," he said.

"Didn't have time to grab one," Theresa replied, pulling a second gun out of a holster and checking it over.

"But you're—" he started, not sure what he was trying to say.

She gave him a pointed look. "Just because my supervisor is IA doesn't mean I don't know what I'm doing in the field. Besides, we're only doing reconnaissance, right?"

Colby inwardly groaned. "Right, just like the other night in Fontana," he said with a look at Liz.

She had impatience written all over her face and was practically bouncing where she stood. "Can we go already?" she asked in a low voice.

"ETA twelve minutes," David's voice came through the comm link.

"We'll save the fun stuff for you," Colby promised. To the rest of his team, he motioned. "Okay, let's go."

They silently made their way across the scrubby grass and into the parking lot. It wasn't well-lit, but Colby wouldn't be surprised if there was a surveillance camera or two keeping track of them. He'd have to hope that no one was manning them, or at least that it wouldn't matter by the time their backup arrived.

They crept past the loading dock, Colby shaking his head when Liz gave him a querying look. That was likely to lead into a large open space, making them too visible to whoever was inside. The smaller door halfway along the back looked more promising.

When they reached it, he held his breath as he reached for the handle. It turned silently in his grip, and he turned toward Liz, mouthing, _One, two…_

Colby eased the door open and let the muzzle of his gun enter first, the rest of him close behind. Liz was almost close enough behind him to feel, and he saw out of the corner of her eye that her weapon was aimed low as she came in behind him. He trusted that Theresa had both of their backs, not even thinking about her earlier betrayal with the surety that out here, they were all on the same side.

They were in a hallway, cinder block walls painted turquoise, bare light bulbs hanging from the ceiling. Cautiously, they inched forward. Colby strained his ears to hear something coming from the main part of the building, but there was only the hum of the ventilation system. At the far end of the hallway was a door with a square window set in it, and he motioned to Liz to stand by near where the door would open as he inched his way up and peered through.

He saw a large, cavernous room, probably the entire building minus the hallway they were in. Overhead florescent lights gave an orange glow to the place, with about a dozen shipping containers stacked against the far wall. Scanning around, Colby saw a group of crates that looked way too familiar—he'd been forced to load those same crates in a truck while his boss was held hostage, and he wanted to pump his fist in triumph at finally finding those damn weapons.

But as his gaze kept sweeping the room, he saw something else that made him freeze. "Shit," he whispered.

"What?" Liz hissed back.

He dropped below the level of the window and looked at her. "Don's off on the side, nearer to where we came from. They've got him tied to a chair, and it looks like they've been taking turns going at him."

Liz flinched, but that was all, and his already-high estimation of her rose further. "How many people guarding him?" she asked quietly.

"I can't tell," Colby replied. "There's a group of crates to the right of the door; if we can open it without being seen, they should provide us with cover."

Theresa leaned closer, her attention still focused on the door they'd come through even though she was speaking to them. "Can Liz go back and enter through the loading dock? Is that closer to Don?"

"Yeah, it is," Colby replied, his mind racing as he tried to figure out the likely layout of the place, given his limited information.

"I can signal to him, let him know we're here," Liz said. She fixed Colby with a look. "That's all I'll do."

"Yeah, that works," he replied. We'll wait thirty seconds for you to get in position and then enter."

"Good luck," Liz said with a squeeze of his shoulder and then a nod to Theresa.

Colby counted down the seconds and exchanged a glance with Theresa. "Let's go," he said, pushing the door open and mentally crossing his fingers.


	23. Your Own Worst Enemy

oooooooooooooooooo

Chapter 5: Your Own Worst Enemy

Don: Never been in combat, but I've been in my share of fire fights and you know what scares the hell out of me? It's not dyin'; it's letting my guys down.  
-"The Mole"

Don's head hung forward against his chest. He was keeping in reserve the strength it would have taken to hold it up for withstanding whatever Esteban was going to throw at him next. He knew the only reason he was still alive was that Hector Simeon wasn't here yet and wanted to witness the final downfall of the Fed who had caused him so much trouble.

It was ironic that the weapons they'd been seeking for days were right in his sight, but there was nothing he could do about it. All he could do was hope that Charlie and Amita had made a breakthrough and identified the location as the building he was currently sitting in. Since his comm unit and cell phone were both crushed into dust, there was no way for his team to track him, and he was sure they hadn't been close enough behind to see which way he was taken.

Now, he sat in a chair, arms tied behind him, mouth bloodied and ribs aching from more than one solid punch delivered by Esteban himself. Don supposed he should be pleased that he'd caused them enough disruption that they were taking it out on him, but his aching body didn't really see it that way.

There was one guy standing guard over him, Glock drawn but not aimed at him. Several feet away, Esteban was talking on a cell phone, far enough that Don couldn't make out the words, and a third man was over by the crates of weapons, doing something that he couldn't see. There had been two other men here when they arrived, but they'd taken off in an SUV not long after, presumably to pick up Simeon.

Suddenly a flash of light caught Don's eye, and he looked up to see a door opening on the far side of the warehouse. No one entered, though, which was puzzling. He looked up at his captors, but none of them had noticed.

Then a scrape off to his left caught his attention, and he turned his head to see Liz crouching behind a pile of boxes, gun at the ready and finger at her lips. Turning back to the front, hoping that nothing had been given away on his face, Don dropped his head again and took a few breaths. He only had to hold out a little while longer.

When he raised his head again, the man watching him had backed off a few steps, his head turned towards where Esteban stood still talking on his phone. So Don carefully looked to the side, where Liz's eyes were fixed right on him.

She held up two fingers and pointed to the side, off where he had seen the door open, and mouthed, _Colby_. He blinked to indicate that he understood. Then she tapped her wrist to indicate a watch and flashed an open hand twice. _Ten minutes._

Don blinked again and eyed his captor once more, who was still oblivious to Liz's presence. Ten minutes until backup arrived and they made their move; in the meantime, Liz and Colby and presumably David were here just in case. He could hold on for that long. As long as Esteban didn't go another round with him; he was pretty sure that one rib was already fractured, and he didn't relish the idea of broken bones grinding around inside of him.

Esteban flipped his phone shut and came towards him. "You tried hard, Agent Eppes, but not hard enough," he said. "The business you interrupted the other night is still going to take place despite your interference."

Don glared up at him, wanting to say, _Not if I can help it,_ but knowing that he had to appear as if he was still completely on his own. Instead he asked, "You found another buyer?"

Esteban looked back at him coolly. "We have," he replied. "They'll be here any minute."

Don stiffened. What were they planning on doing with him while an unknown party bought illegal weapons?

As if he had heard Don's question, Esteban said, "Cut him loose for now. We'll need to put him in the back office until Simeon arrives."

The gunman came forward and produced a wicked-looking switchblade, slicing the ropes around Don's wrists and nicking his arm in the process. Don winced and brought his hands in front of him, rubbing at his wrists and stubbornly remaining in the chair.

"Let's go," Esteban said, motioning with his gun.

Don wanted to stall, but he figured he could only push these guys so far. Simeon would be plenty happy to see him dead, and since they hadn't tried to get any information out of him yet, he couldn't use that as a stalling tactic. So he slowly rose to his feet, holding one arm across his ribs for support but also to signal to Liz that he was injured.

The gun at his back prodded him forward, and he took advantage of his changed position to search for Colby and David. Don caught a flash of sandy brown hair behind one of the crates along the far wall, and then the sight of a second person had him stumbling in surprise. He was able to pass it off as being from his injuries, though not without getting a shove from behind, but he still ruminated on it as he went.

What was Theresa Pennington doing here? With Colby, no less?

Don's thoughts were whirling, and he forced himself to work through them. David wasn't here, which might mean that he'd been overpowered by his driver as well. No one from his team would have called on Theresa for assistance, which meant either that she'd been assigned to them—which was unlikely except as part of a larger team, of which there was no sign here—or she'd been the one to tell them where Don was being held, and God only knew how she'd figured that out.

They were almost to the hallway to the back offices where Colby and Theresa had come out of when one of the main warehouse doors at the front of the building slid open, and bright halogen headlights filled the room. Don turned and held up a hand to block out the light, but a shove from behind sent him forward again.

Esteban was going forward to meet the new arrivals, and now Don _did _drag his feet, wanting to catch a glimpse of who they were.

While he didn't recognize the man getting out of the driver's seat, it was clear that he was pissed. He came up to Esteban and said loudly, "You brought me all this way to lead me into a trap?"

"What are you talking about?" Esteban scoffed.

"I'm talking about the fucking FBI. There's a black SUV in the parking lot next door that has government-issue written all over it. You thought we wouldn't notice?" Suddenly there was a large firearm being waved in Esteban's direction, probably a Desert Eagle, from the size of it.

A hand grabbed Don's arm and spun him around to face Esteban, even as the gun dug into his side. Esteban had turned back towards him, his face like a thundercloud. "How many of them are there, Eppes?"

He lifted his chin and braced himself. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Who the fuck is he?" the driver asked, pointing at Don.

Figuring he had nothing to lose and everything to gain if he could set these two groups against each other, Don said, "I'm a federal agent."

The man looked him over, taking in the weapon pressed into his side. "That's your car next door?"

Esteban was eyeing him carefully, and Don realized there wasn't a right answer that he could give. Saying no would alert the men that there were federal agents nearby, and he couldn't blow their cover right now. But saying yes would be instantly identified as a lie, with the same result. So he did the only thing he could do and stayed silent.

That got him a punch in the kidneys, and he doubled over with a grunt. "Where are they, Eppes?" Esteban demanded, coming forward and delivering an uppercut that would have flattened him if not for the tight grip on the back of his shirt.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Don ground out, aware that it was kind of childish but feeling it nonetheless.

Esteban nodded at the man behind him, and Don felt the pressure at his side relieved.

Then Esteban's gun was under his chin, safety off, and the time for bluffing was over. "Tell me now," he demanded. "Or I blow your head off."

There was dead silence for a second. Then two voices sounded simultaneously from the far corners of the warehouse. "FBI!"

It was Colby and Theresa, who had apparently split up to give the illusion that their numbers were bigger, which meant that backup wasn't actually here, which meant they were probably all screwed.

"There's your answer," Don ground out, staring down Esteban and wondering if the last thing he was going to see was the man's angry face.

Suddenly the sound of machine gun fire split the air, and Don looked over Esteban's shoulder to see the passenger side window of the SUV rolled down and the muzzle of a machine gun pointing out, spraying the far side of the warehouse.

"No, stop, you'll set off the grenades!" Esteban shouted, but his voice was lost in the chatter of gunfire. Cursing, he wrapped a hand around Don's arm and started dragging him to the side, unknowingly towards where Liz was waiting, while firing at the windshield of the SUV.

There were bullets flying in all directions, although Don had the feeling that none of them were coming from FBI-issued Glocks. Better to let these two gangs shoot it out among themselves, even if he was at risk of being in the crossfire.

Then they rounded the corner, and Liz's voice stopped them dead in their tracks. "Hands up," she demanded, and Don looked to see her in firing stance, gun in steady hands.

Esteban reacted quicker than Don would have expected, hauling the agent in front of him and jamming his gun under Don's jaw. "You again," he snarled. "You know I'm not going to have any problem with shooting him."

"There are agents surrounding the building," Liz said calmly, and Don couldn't tell from the flat tone of her voice whether that was true or not. "Put down your weapon, Esteban."

"You put yours down," Esteban demanded, pushing the gun harder into the underside of Don's jaw.

He stood there, arms trapped at his sides, feeling the gunsight digging into the underside of his jaw and keeping his eyes locked on Liz's. He was the same height as Esteban, but his head was angled to the side, and Liz should have a chance at a head shot. Still, she was hesitating.

Then her words from the walkway outside the FBI building came back into Don's head, and his stomach sank._ I think I would have done anything they asked to keep them from hurting you_, she'd said, referring to when he'd been kneeling in the storage unit with this same man threatening his life. Even if she had the shot, he had the sinking feeling that she wasn't going to take it.

If it was any other agent in front of him, Don would trust them to do what had to be done. Instead, he could see Liz wavering, could see her considering Esteban's demand, and there was no way he was going to let that happen.

Figuring he had no other choice, Don let himself go limp, falling back against Esteban, hoping to dislodge the weapon that was pressed against his head.

When the gun went off, the sound in his ear was deafening.

oooooooooooooooooo

It took a few minutes for Colby to scope out the situation and count the number of armed men: three, including Luis Garcia Esteban, certainly the man in charge at the moment. Don looked damaged but not in immediate danger.

Colby could see the moment he spotted them, his head moving upwards, eyes flickering towards his captor before covering their direction. Then, as expected, he continued sweeping the room, and it was obvious the moment he saw Liz, even though he was clearly trying to hide it. Colby held his breath, but it appeared that no one else had seen what Don had, and he relaxed slightly. David and the rest had to be less than ten minutes away now; he and Theresa just needed to quickly scope out the building and make their way back outside.

They edged away from the door to start looking around when Don was prodded to his feet and sent in their direction. Theresa wasn't quite hidden from the approaching men, and Colby waited with his heart in his throat, sure that the gunman holding Don was going to see her.

Then the door opened and an SUV with spinning rims rolled in, and their presence was effectively blown. Theresa started edging farther away from him, taking advantage of the shouting between the two groups to explain her idea, and Colby prepared himself.

As it turned out, the moment to move was obvious, and they both shouted "FBI!" without having to coordinate it at all.

The ensuing spray of gunfire wasn't surprising, although the intensity was, and as Colby ducked for cover, he grimaced. They should have known that someone coming to buy rocket-propelled grenades was probably already in possession of some pretty serious firepower. Thankfully, the man didn't seem to care what he was aiming at, trusting the wide spray of bullets to take care of any threat out there.

Unfortunately, that also meant he was firing towards the crates of weapons that Theresa was crouched behind. Making sure he knew exactly where all of the gunmen on both sides were, Colby popped up and took a shot at the man in the car, wincing when he heard the _ping_ of the bullet striking metal and ricocheting off.

The chatter of machine gun fire abruptly cut off, and Colby darted to the side and down. Apparently he'd managed to damage the weapon enough to render it useless, as the ensuing clatter of it hitting the ground followed by a torrent of cursing told him.

Unfortunately, he'd also managed to give away his position, and the whine of a bullet past his ear told him that he needed to keep moving. The bark of a gun from his left meant Theresa was giving him cover, trusting that Esteban's men wouldn't fire back while she was taking cover behind the RPGs, which made for a simultaneously clever and monumentally stupid plan.

Colby found himself behind a broad support pillar with a clear shot at the third man of Esteban's crew. Aiming carefully, he squeezed the trigger and was rewarded with a sharp cry as the man dropped his gun to clamp a hand to his shoulder. _One down, two to go_, he thought. Assuming the newcomers stayed in their vehicle, that was.

On the far side of the warehouse, he could see Don being dragged along by Esteban, close to where Liz would have been hiding, and he hoped she could take advantage of the relative lull.

Suddenly there was a screeching of tires, and Colby looked up to see the SUV reversing out of the warehouse. Whoever the visitors were, they were on their way out, unless the FBI had gotten close enough to surround the building. That left only Esteban and the second man, the one who'd originally been holding Don captive. Colby had last seen him heading towards the door that the three of them had entered by, which meant that he could be—

The scrape of footsteps on the concrete behind him was followed immediately by something hard and cold against the back of his neck. "Drop the gun, Fed," came the harsh command.

Colby froze. He couldn't turn to his right because of the pillar, which left one direction to turn if he made a move. The guy was making the mistake of holding the gun right up against him, which meant Colby knew exactly where to go to duck out of the way, as soon as he got himself to move.

"We got your buddy across the way," the gunman said. "And we're gonna put a bullet in his head, same as yours."

Colby couldn't look to see what condition Don was in, but he figured he could move better with two free hands anyway, so he slowly held up his Glock and didn't resist as it was taken out of his hands. "Looks like your customers didn't like the conditions very much," he couldn't help but taunt.

"Shut up," came the swift reply. "Take that vest off."

Colby swallowed hard. Not that he wouldn't be screwed if the man fired point-blank at his back with the vest on, but the thought of removing it made him uncomfortably vulnerable. "No," he said, straining his ears for any sign of Theresa.

The gun pressed in harder. "Now, or I shoot."

"You're not going to shoot." It was Theresa's voice, off to Colby's left, and he let out a whoosh of breath. "You're going to put that gun on the floor and lay yourself down after it."

Colby felt a hand gripping his shoulder and yanking him around to the side. When his vision cleared, he was standing in front of the shorter gunman, probably completely blocking him from Theresa's view, gun jammed into the side of his neck. "I'm not bluffing, Fed," the man behind him snarled.

"Neither am I." Theresa's eyes were hard and bright, her aim locked firmly on what looked to Colby to be the side of his own head but was presumably the only part of his captor that she could see.

Megan's question to him back in the van flashed into his mind, and Colby realized with a sudden shock that he _did _trust Theresa. Not at a personal level, not given how close she'd gotten to him by pretending to be someone else, but professionally speaking. If she was good enough to infiltrate their team and gather whatever information she'd been able to without any of them noticing, then keep working on the case even after Don had thrown her out, there was no reason to doubt her skills as an FBI agent. And no one but Colby could know better how you could split yourself in two like that, keeping your loyalty to colleagues and country completely separate.

"Take the shot," he muttered, staring at her hard.

Her eyes flickered to his in acknowledgment and then back to the gunman. "What's it going to be, Salazar?" she asked. "You gonna take the opportunity to be deported back home, or are you going to bleed out right here on the floor?"

"You're not going to risk it," the man snapped back, but Colby could hear the uncertainty in his voice, and he could see from the flash in Theresa's eyes that she did, too.

"No, _you're_ not going to risk it," she said, taking a step closer, arms never wavering. "It's over, you know. There are agents surrounding the building, taking into custody the buyers who just left. We have Esteban's cousin, and boy, did he sing loud and sweet. I'm sure your wife and kids back home would rather see you back in one piece than hear about how you dying up here."

It was working, but Colby wasn't sure it was fast enough. Catching Theresa's eye, he tilted his head slightly to the side, away from the gun, and gestured upward with a fist on the same side. Her eyes widened slightly, but she gave an almost imperceptible nod and tightened her grip on the gun. "So I'm going to give you one more chance—"

The grip on his shoulder was loosening, so Colby twisted down to the left, turning towards the gunman, bringing up his left hand to shove the gun away. It fired into the air over his head, but a swift punch to the gunman's jaw sent him staggering back, and Colby was able to wrestle the gun away from him and hit him again, sending him sprawling to the ground.

Theresa moved forward to stand over him. She looked up at Colby, and he could see worry and fear flash across her face before her features settled into calm once more. "Good job," she said, sounding slightly surprised.

He reached behind him for his handcuffs. "I never doubted your ability to do the job," he said, watching as her chin lifted slightly and understanding swept over her face, followed by resignation.

"Thank you," was all she said, and then they were silent except for the necessary work of cuffing Salazar and the first man Colby had shot, still groaning on the floor with his hand pressed over his shoulder.

At one point, he looked up to see Liz and Don standing over Esteban, Don's foot on his back and Liz's gun pointed down at him. Liz was saying something in a low voice, and Colby could see Don's grimace before he bent down to secure handcuffs on his former captor.

Colby wasn't looking forward to finding out what that was all about.

oooooooooooooooooo

For all that David's nerves were strung tight as piano wire on the drive to the warehouse, the raid itself was surprisingly anticlimactic.

He was in one of four FBI-issue Suburbans, lights and sirens off as they blazed down the freeway and off the exit ramp towards where Charlie had guessed and Megan had confirmed their bad guys were waiting. When Megan relayed that Esteban was among their number and that they had Don, it took everything David had not to tell the junior agent who was already driving seventy miles an hour to go faster. Instead, he checked his vest and weapon one more time and willed himself to stay calm.

The most excitement they had was nearly running into a large SUV racing out of the warehouse they were headed to, except in reverse. The lead vehicles instantly swung to intercept it, and David watched as they were quickly surrounded and forced out of the car. He couldn't tell by the glow of their headlights if it was Simeon's men or not, but a quick report over their earpieces informed him that Don was not in the vehicle.

The main overhead door to the warehouse was still open, and they slid quietly to a halt next to it. A moment later, they were entering in careful formation, David taking point, every sense alert after hearing a single shot fired. At his signal, six agents swarmed the warehouse, their shouts and raised weapons filling the large space.

As it turned out, it wasn't necessary. The first thing he saw was an obviously-injured Don exchanging heated words with Liz while cuffing a man on his stomach whom David hopefully thought looked a lot like Esteban. He sent two men over to assist and told them to insist that Don get checked out by the ambulance that was on its way.

Then he moved to the other side of the building, where Colby was standing guard over a man with a gunshot wound to the shoulder. "All clear?" David asked.

"Yeah, all clear." The corner of Colby's mouth turned up. "Doesn't mean we're not glad to see you," he said.

"Same here," David replied. "Any other unfriendlies around?"

"Theresa's got one back there," Colby said.

David knew his jaw was dropping open, but he couldn't help himself. "Theresa?"

Colby nodded tiredly. "Long story, but she had my back."

David looked at him for a long moment, wondering what on earth had happened since he saw his partner ready to slug the woman he'd spent the night with. "You're gonna tell me later, right?" he said, more an instruction than a question.

"Soon as I figure it out," Colby said with a rueful grin.

David clapped him on the shoulder and moved away, directing two more agents to assist Pennington in securing her prisoner, not quite able to meet her eyes despite Colby's half-hearted endorsement. When he laid eyes on the crates of weapons, he pointed the remaining agent in that direction, instructing her to radio in that they'd found what they'd been looking for.

When he got back to Liz and Don, he moved directly to his boss, taking in the split and bleeding lip, the bruising around one eye, and the way he was holding one arm against his ribs. "Let's get you outside, Don," he said, moving closer to assist if necessary without getting in the way should Don's pride not allow him the help.

Sure enough, the older agent snapped, "I'm fine," and moved away.

"You're not fine," Liz retorted. "And that's based on what we saw since we got here, not to mention what Esteban did to you before we arrived."

"David, what's the situation?" Don asked, almost completely turning his back on Liz.

David frowned and adjusted his position so he was speaking to both of them at once. "We've secured the vehicle outside but haven't identified the guys inside yet."

"They were here for the RPGs, but they scrammed when they saw the car these guys left next door," Don said with a jerk of his head towards Liz.

She pressed her lips together but didn't say anything, although David could almost see steam coming out of her ears like a cartoon character.

"So as far as you know, those are all of the RPGs?" David asked.

Don nodded. "Everything we've been looking for except Simeon is right here."

"Sounds like a good operation, then," David said.

Grimacing, Don turned away from them and towards the open door, where the wailing of an ambulance siren could be heard in the distance. "Yeah, it was fantastic," he replied as he started to walk away.

David exchanged a look with Liz. "You okay?" he asked cautiously.

She was glaring after Don. "I'm not hurt," she replied, and that told him more than he had asked right there.

"You'll be fine," he said somewhat awkwardly. "Both of you."

Her mouth twisted into a half-grimace. "I'm sure we will," she said completely unconvincingly before turning to follow Don.

David watched her walk off, wondering how, if everything had gone so well and no one had gotten seriously injured, it still felt like failure was hanging over their heads in a dark cloud.


	24. The Long Goodbye

Well, folks, this is it: the final chapter. Thanks for your comments along the way; I appreciate every one of them. See you around!

oooooooooooooooooo

Chapter 6: The Long Goodbye

Alan: When you care about people, feel responsible for them, it can blind your good sense.  
Don: Yeah, well, that's the question, when does it come back? Or does it?  
-"Two Daughters"

"Congratulations on getting your paper accepted, Dr. Ramanujan," Charlie said with a grin.

Amita grinned from her position in the doorway to his office. "Thank you," she said. "It's a great way to start a Monday morning, that's for sure. I just hope I earned it."

"Of course you did," Charlie replied. "It was a brilliant piece of work."

She gave a tiny smile and came forward. "The editor mentioned something in his letter about ensuring that it was truly a double-blind review and that none of the referees knew who had written it."

"See, that's what I mean. No one's name got that paper accepted for you." _Or prevented it from being accepted_, he mentally added.

"There's something else," she said, coming forward to perch on his desk. "I got an e-mail from one of the organizers of the Munich conference. One of their speakers cancelled and they wanted to know if I was interested in attending."

"And are you?" Charlie asked.

Amita shrugged one slim shoulder. "I know that I shouldn't turn it down out of spite, but believe me, I am tempted."

"Did you already make plans for that week?"

"Not really," she said, shaking her head.

"We should go a week early and hang out in Germany," Charlie said. They'd gone on a couple of weekend trips together, or stayed on after conferences for a few days, but never on an extended vacation.

"I'd like that," Amita said with a smile.

Charlie smiled back and stood up to kiss her. "Mmm," he said as they pulled apart. "I'm taking you out to dinner to celebrate that paper."

"And the end of the case," she said. "Thanks to us cracking the code."

He nodded. When he found out later how just-in-time their results had been, enabling the FBI to find Don, he'd felt ill. The thought of how closely his brother's life depended on him and his work was thrilling and nauseating all at once. In the end, though, it made him realize that even given a mistake here and there, he was contributing something to his brother's team that they wouldn't have otherwise, and that was enough to make him want to stay.

There was a tap on the doorframe, and they both looked up. "Hey, Larry," Charlie said, waving him in.

"How's Megan?" Amita asked, turning to face Larry but still sitting on Charlie's desk.

"Recuperating at her home, now that the case has been largely wrapped up." Larry shook his head and came forward. "I continue to be amazed that at the woman's tenacity. Eight hours out of the hospital and she was in the field with her team."

"Amazed or disapproving?" Charlie asked knowingly.

Larry spread his hands wide. "It's part of what makes her who she is, which is the most amazing woman I have ever had the privilege to know."

"She must really be something if she's gotten you to come down from your mountain," Charlie gently teased.

"She is," Larry said softly, and Charlie couldn't help the smile that crept over his face.

"Aww," Amita said with a grin.

Charlie put a hand on her back. "How are _you _doing, Larry?" he asked, settling in next to his girlfriend on the desk.

Most people would quickly answer, "Fine," or at least most people that Charlie knew, so it was odd to have Larry actually consider the question for a moment. "As I said, I am amazed at Megan's resilience. It's made me contemplate my own, or the lack thereof."

"What are you talking about?" Charlie asked. "You're plenty resilient."

Larry cocked his head to the side. "My method of dealing with problems seems to be avoiding them. Divesting myself of my house and possessions, attempting to divest myself of ties to this university and my colleagues…I went all the way into low Earth orbit, for goodness' sake. There may be something to be said for going to the woods to live deliberately, but even Thoreau came home at the end of every day to have his meals cooked for him."

"Maybe he just didn't want to live on nuts and berries," Amita cheekily suggested, leaning closer to Charlie.

"Maybe he understood that even in seeking out our inner selves, we cannot do it without the assistance of others," Larry replied.

"And the monks aren't doing it for you?" Charlie asked dryly.

In reply, Larry steepled his fingers and leaned forward in his chair. "For a time, yes. But if I am going to love someone who is so much of this world that she puts its needs above her own physical well-being, then I need to be of this world, too."

"So you're okay with it." When Larry looked puzzled, Charlie went on, "With her job being so dangerous. I mean, you've seen that first hand now, right?"

"I admit, it is not the most comforting knowledge to have obtained, but you have adjusted to it with your brother, right?"

"Yeah, but he's my brother," Charlie shrugged. "I don't have a choice about accepting him as he is."

"Neither do I," Larry said softly, and that was when Charlie knew for sure that his best and oldest friend had gone totally head over heels.

"I'm glad you were able to persuade her to take some time off," Amita said, and from the fondness in her tone, Charlie understood she had come to the same revelation about Larry's feelings for Megan.

"I think her physician was more persuasive than was I, but the end result is the same." Larry stood up and rubbed his hands together. "And now I am off to gain a small head start in adjusting to domestic life."

"What does that mean?" Charlie asked, laughing.

"I feared I would not have a home to move into upon my return from the monastery, but Megan's loft is quite large and I have few possessions to clutter up her space. Before she returns at the end of the workday, I was hoping to make a few adjustments to enable us to cohabitate more successfully."

Charlie grinned. "You're moving in together? That's great."

"At least while she is on the mend," Larry clarified.

"I'm sure it'll be longer than that," Amita said.

"One hopes so," Larry said with a small smile. Then he gave a little wave and headed out.

Charlie slipped his arm around Amita and pulled her towards him. "You think you could consider cluttering up my space with your possessions?"

She rested her head on his shoulder. "I could think about it."

He grinned and kissed the top of her head. "I'll make it worth your while."

"I already spend more hours of the day with you than not," Amita mock-grumbled, but the kiss she gave him told him she didn't mind.

_What if I want to spend all of the hours of all of the days with you?_ Charlie thought, but he only kissed back and didn't reply. There would be time for that later. Amita wasn't going anywhere, and neither was he.

oooooooooooooooooo

Monday morning dawned bright and early, but for once, Colby Granger wasn't having any part of it. After the excitement of the past week—and it was hard to believe that a week ago at this time, the name Hector Simeon meant nothing to him—he'd accepted Don's suggestion of taking a day or two off. He and David were meeting up for a few beers in the afternoon, maybe clearing the air a little, maybe picking up where they'd left off before a guy named Taylor Ashby entered their lives.

After taking all of the men and weapons into custody the other night, they'd prepared for another series of long and difficult interrogations. To their surprise, Esteban had been more than willing to give up Simeon's location in exchange for reduced charges, and Don had leapt at it. They'd caught the Salvadorean gang leader hiding in a relative's condo in the Valley, and it had been one of the more satisfying times Colby had slapped handcuffs on someone.

So Saturday and Sunday had been devoted to mopping up, and after a full seven-day week, Colby hadn't complained when he was offered the day off. He was caught up short when he realized that there was no need to take advantage of it by arranging a meeting with Dwayne—for the first time in a long time, his free time was entirely his.

He still got up early, taking a morning run that was longer than usual, enjoying the stretch and burn of muscles dealing with five miles instead of three. He showered, made a proper cup of coffee, and slowly realized that he had no idea what to do with himself. He eyed his phone, sitting on the dining room table. Maybe David wouldn't mind meeting up early, if he called him…

The knock on the door was almost perfect timing, and Colby wondered if his partner had somehow acquired telepathic skills while Colby was away. He didn't bother looking through the peephole before opening the door, and was therefore taken aback to see a petite brunette standing on his doorstep rather than his taller partner.

"Hi," Theresa said, her expression somewhere between hopeful and wary. "I went to see you at the office, but they said you had the day off, and I was afraid if I called you'd just hang up, so I thought I'd come here instead."

"Why would you think I'd hang up?" Colby said calmly.

She blinked at him. "Because the last time I saw you, you weren't exactly feeling friendly towards me."

"The last time I saw you, you saved my life," he returned.

Despite the busy work of mopping up the operation, he'd had a lot of time to think over the past couple of days. Aside from the initial debriefings, where he saw Theresa exiting the conference room from a distance and never actually talked to her, he hadn't seen her since leaving the warehouse in Chino. When he found out that she had fought to keep working on uncovering the FBI mole, even when she'd been accused of betraying him and his team, his estimation had changed slightly. By the end of the weekend, he'd come to understand that she'd just been doing her job, and if he saw her again, he could at least be cordial.

But now, seeing her again, here at his apartment where he'd seen a _lot _of her the other night, it was hard to think about being only friendly.

"Do you have a minute?" she asked.

"Yeah, sure," he said, opening the door and stepping aside to let her in.

She looked around with the same deceptively casual sweep of her head that she had the other night, what Colby now recognized as professional interest as much as personal. It was a hard habit to turn off, he knew, but it was still a jolt to see it from her.

"Sorry," Theresa said when she noticed him looking at her. "Habit, I guess."

"Yeah, I know." Colby shut the door and motioned to the couch. "You want anything to drink?"

"You never got to demonstrate your coffee-making skills," she said, slightly hesitantly.

He looked toward the pot and saw that there was about a cup left. "Yeah, just a sec," he said.

Colby grabbed a mug from the dishwasher and filled it with coffee. When he turned around, he flinched a little, surprised that Theresa had followed him into the kitchen without him noticing. "Sorry, I, uh, didn't know you were there," he said, handing over the mug.

"Sorry," she returned, accepting the cup and taking a sip. Her eyebrows went up. "Oh, my."

He could feel a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. "Strong enough for you?"

"It'll do," she said, returning the smile. Then her face fell. "Colby, I'm sorry. I didn't—you were never supposed to know."

"Yeah, I kind of figured that," he said tightly, leaning back against the counter.

"That's how it usually works, after all," she said, taking another sip before setting the mug down on the counter. "One of us goes into an office where there's trouble, quietly investigates, and 'gets reassigned' once we figure it out and finger the source of the problem. No one knows who we really are except our supervisors and maybe the director of the local office."

"And how deep does that investigation usually go?" Colby asked, unable to keep the sharpness out of his voice.

Theresa instantly shook her head and took a step forward. "Not to the extent of seducing the subjects, if that's what you're thinking. Hell, I could probably get fired for being here the other night, or at least demoted."

"Then why were you here?" he asked quietly, his eyes searching her face.

She rolled her eyes. "Why do you think, Granger?"

That loosened a knot of tension that had been lodged in his chest ever since Don revealed her real job to the whole team. "I'm that irresistible, huh?"

Theresa gave a small smile and looked down. "You should know what it's like, Colby. Not being able to let your guard down around anyone, even the people you work so closely with, even the people who know you better than family. I felt like I could do it with you."

Colby's throat tightened. "Because of that 'other job' I had to do?"

"No," she assured him quickly. "Because of who you are."

"And who's that?" he asked.

Theresa let out a huff of breath. "You're really going to make me do this, aren't you?"

He cocked his head to the side. "Do what?"

She licked her lips nervously, and his eyes were drawn to the motion. "Explain why I fell for you about a day and a half after we met."

It was Colby's turn to blink in surprise. "Really?"

"Is it that hard to believe?" Theresa asked wryly.

He shrugged one shoulder, his earlier words to Don coming back to him. L.A. _was _tough, even when you weren't working undercover with the Chinese. "I might be out of practice," he admitted.

"I am, too," she said, and then she was taking a step forward and then another, until she was right in front of him. "That's the disclaimer to make it clear that I don't know what I'm doing here."

His hand came up to rest on her shoulder, his thumb just brushing her collarbone. "And you think I do?" he asked.

Theresa reached out and put a hand on his hip, warm and solid through his sweats. "I really am leaving L.A. soon," she said. "Probably by the end of the week."

"More corruption to root out?" Colby asked, sliding his hand up so it was resting along the side of her neck.

Theresa swallowed as his hand touched her skin. "Unfortunately, there always seems to be more."

"Good thing you're good at your job, then," he said, and he waited long enough to see the comprehension dawn in her eyes that it was forgiveness he was granting her before he bent forward and took her mouth with his.

He ended up calling David to cancel their afternoon get-together, but Colby figured he could always make it up to his partner later.

oooooooooooooooooo

Another long Monday was over. Don rested his forearms on the railing and looked out at the skyline of L.A. The buildings were starting to light up in the dusk, the streams of cars on the freeway below inching their way along even though the conventional rush hour was long over.

He'd told his team to take the day off; they'd more than earned it after the past week, including saving his ass not once but twice. Not to mention tracking down the stolen RPGs _and _both the buyers and sellers, as well as the original source. Not bad for a week's work.

Colby and David seemed to be on track to working things out, and that was as good of news as any of the incident reports he'd filed today. Don had had a long conversation with their Assistant Director about Theresa's presence among them, and then a somewhat shorter talk with the woman herself that morning when she came by looking for Colby. Don hadn't hesitated very long before sending her to Colby's place; it seemed like the initial resentment and betrayal had burned off in the heat of working together on Friday night, and it would do Colby some good to close the door on this chapter before moving on again.

Megan was healing up under Larry's close supervision, and that was still something that made Don shake his head whenever he thought about it. Talk about opposites attracting. They made it work, though, and he wished that all of his people could find a significant other who was so understanding of the dangers they faced and the suddenness with which one's life could be completely turned upside-down.

There was no small amount of irony in those thoughts, considering who he was waiting for out here. Liz had scheduled a meeting with the Assistant Director, and he knew full well what it was going to be about. They'd barely talked at all after the near-disaster in the warehouse the other night, the one that was entirely his fault, but he knew what she was thinking, and he didn't blame her one bit.

A few more minutes passed before he heard the click of heels on the cement, and he turned to see Liz striding towards him, head held high and expression calm. "Hey," she said as she came up to him.

"Hey," he returned, turning to face her, feeling like he was facing an execution squad.

Liz's expression softened almost instantly. "I'm sorry," she started.

"No, no, I'm the one who's sorry," he said quickly, reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder. "I haven't even gotten to tell you that, have I?"

She shrugged one shoulder. "I know you didn't mean it."

"But that's the problem, isn't it?" Don gave her a rueful grin. "When the chips were down, I didn't trust you to have my back. I thought you couldn't do your job and take the shot, and I should have. I'm so sorry for that, Liz."

Liz heaved in a big breath. "I suppose I didn't help by telling you the other night that I would have done anything to keep you safe."

He shook his head and moved forward, folding her into his arms. She held herself a little stiffly before relaxing. "It's not on you, okay? If you couldn't be honest with me, that's no good either, right?"

"Right," Liz said softly into his shoulder. He thought he heard the slightest hitch in the next breath she drew. "So, um, I talked to the A.D."

Don briefly closed his eyes and then let her go. "What did he have to say?"

She tapped her fingers on the railing a few times. "There's a position open in Denver. It's kind of a promotion, or at least there'd be opportunities for advancement earlier than if I stayed here."

"The same kind of work?" he asked, trying to keep his tone light.

"More or less," Liz answered. She gave a little frown. "I wonder if I'd have to learn to ski."

Don almost managed to smile at that. God, this hurt. Part of him knew it was the right thing, and of all the possible ways for them to break up, this was probably the best, on friendly terms and without damaging either one of their careers. It was just too bad it had taken a monumental screw-up on his part to make that happen.

"I'm sure you'll do great," Don said softly.

She looked up at him, and although he could see the sheen of tears in her eyes, he could also see that she wasn't going to let them fall. "Thanks," she said quietly, reaching up to pat his hand still resting on her shoulder. "The transfer wouldn't be for a few weeks, so…"

"Good," Don replied. "'Cause all of your stuff is still at my place."

She let out a short laugh. "God, this is awkward."

"What?" he asked, not sure if she was referring to the whole situation or something in particular.

Liz shook her head. "We are breaking up here, right? I mean, in my experience there's usually a lot more shouting and accusations being thrown around, you know?"

"Maybe we're just being grown up about it," Don said, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, a gesture that was bittersweet in its familiarity.

"Huh," she replied. "So that's what it feels like."

He gave her a half-smile. "Guess so."

There was a pause. Then Liz moved forward and wrapped her arms around him. "I do love you, you know, Don. Just not—not like you deserve it."

"Yeah, I know," he replied, bending his head to kiss her hair. "And thank you."

She squeezed him before letting go. "Are you done for the night?"

"Yeah, I was going to head over to Dad and Charlie's for a late dinner," he said. "You could come along if you want."

She was already shaking her head sadly. "I probably better not."

Don wanted to protest, but he understood. "Yeah, I guess not."

Silence fell again. Then Liz licked her lips and stepped back. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Don said, watching her until she had disappeared into the building.

He stayed there for a while longer, thinking about the whirlwind of the past week and everything that he and his team had learned about each other. It had been a rocky ride, that was for sure, but in the end, it was the external pressures that had cost them the most. They'd pulled together, trusted each other—mostly—and come out the other side with the bad guys in custody and no major damage done, at least none that they wouldn't learn to live with.

At the end of the day, Don supposed that was the best he could ask for.

He set his e-mail for an out-of-office message for the following day, shut down his computer, and took absolutely no paperwork with him. He nodded at the regular janitor mopping the floors by the elevator, and again at the guards at the front entrance.

Then Don headed off for ribeye and a quiet dinner with his family.

oooooooooooooooooo


End file.
